


The Lives of the Rich and the Beautiful

by themunchking



Series: Your Lips and Other Beautiful Things [2]
Category: EXO (Band), NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Equal parts sweet emotional and nasty, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, No Daddy Kink, Numerous kinks but not extreme ones, Porn With Plot, Side Baekhyun/Yukhei, Side Johnny/Ten, Switching, model!jongin, student!mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 65,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themunchking/pseuds/themunchking
Summary: By October, Mark has a sugar daddy. You know the model with his abs plastered over Times Square? Yup, that's the one.  And did Mark mention he's in love with him?Or: Mark Lee is terrible at communication, but loves New York. And Jongin. (Sequel to Pretty People Problems.)
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Mark Lee (NCT)
Series: Your Lips and Other Beautiful Things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631509
Comments: 106
Kudos: 763





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, the continuation to Pretty People Problems. Please read that fic first, as it encompasses important details in the first three sections of this fic. Also, there’s a lot of sex. Like, a lot. I watched porn to do research. But at this point, you must know what you’re getting into here.
> 
> Please do not repost or link to the official channels of the people depicted here (translations, however, are fine and welcomed). This, remember, is a work of _fiction._

**October**

Ten gave him the tickets in October. 

Mark had been in New York for just over a month, adjusting to a new country and new city (again), and how weird it was to pass by someone on the street and hear them speaking English (like it wasn’t something that existed in Mark’s head, only), and getting reacquainted with washer/dryer combos instead of having to hang his underwear for the world to see. 

His parents were proud of him for going to university in Korea for two years, for sticking out the move with them when they decided to go back when Mark was still in high school, but truthfully, Mark was never going to be able to call Korea home. He missed Queens, and asshole New Yorkers, and the trains that were never on time, and dollar pizza slices, and the terrible, awful Mets. Mark didn’t know it was possible to miss the stench of boiling trash and steaming piss in the summer and giant rats but yeah, he missed that stuff, too.

More than anything, he missed his brother, Johnny, who by the time his family packed up and moved back to Korea was already making a name for himself at the New School’s photography program, and when Mark finally landed at Tisch in September, had his name in galleries and famous people on his walls, and a boyfriend with 2.5 million Instagram followers and a show in fashion week. 

It was kind of outrageous, watching his brother be catapulted into this glamorous New York life that growing up had been so distant. There were the lives of the normal New Yorkers, people like Mark’s parents, who grinded and hustled seven days a week running a chicken wing place, and then there were the lives of the rich and beautiful, who made the concrete jungle their concrete playground. 

Sure, Mark’s parents could afford to send him and his brother to good, expensive private schools, but that was more a result of good financial planning over inherent wealth. But now Johnny was running with the brunch three-days-a-week, peruse the “new in” racks at Gucci crowd and seemed down to pull Mark along for the ride. 

So yeah. Ten gave him the tickets, and by the time October was halfway through, Mark Seo was the sugar baby (isn’t that the term the kids are using these days?) of one Kim Jongin. You know that guy with his abs plastered all over Times Square? Yup, that’s the one. 

-

**November**

“It’s a skateboard, but with a motor,” Jongin is saying. Mark is, for his part, feeling like he’s having a stroke, or a heart attack, or that he’s been struck suddenly by lightning. Colors are lighting up behind his eyelids like it’s the 4th of July, but really, Mark is just struggling to process whatever _this_ is. 

_This_ is a fourteen-hundred dollar electric skateboard, one of the most fetishized things at NYU besides menthol cigarettes and Noah Baumbach films. _This_ is a Boosted Board, t-fucking-m, and Jongin presents it to him while Mark is sitting on his outrageous forest green velvet couch wearing nothing but his Calvin Klein boxer briefs (which, by the way, Jongin models for) from the Macy’s sales rack.

“Do you like it?” Jongin is asking, puppy-dog eyes in full effect. The thing that most of the public doesn’t understand is that 75% of the time, Jongin is absolutely adorable. And Mark didn’t expect this at all when he was choking on Jongin’s dick in the bathroom the first time they met, but he’s genuinely one of the nicest people Mark has ever met. A total sweetheart who gets weepy during Disney movies. 

He’s taken this whole _sugar daddy_ thing to heart, too, because he goes around giving Mark, a person he barely knows, fourteen-hundred dollar gifts. Clearly, he delights in seeing Mark’s face when he’s surprised, and something tells Mark this isn’t going to be his most extravagant gesture.

For the record, the other 25% of the time, Jongin is a raging sex god. Sometimes he switches between the two so fast Mark gets whiplash. 

“Yeah Jongin, I love it,” Mark manages to get out through his dumbstruck awe. Jongin’s smile lights up his entire face and he saddles up alongside Mark on the couch to tuck his cheek into the younger’s shoulder, even though he has to bend his back awkwardly to do so. 

“This guy I met had one. He seemed so cool with it. That and the wearing sunglasses inside thing.” 

“You met Casey Neistat?” Mark splutters. Jongin pulls away, quirks an eyebrow innocently. 

“I think so? If that’s the Youtube guy, then yes. It was at some GQ thing.” Jongin intertwines their hands, which makes it pretty much impossible for Mark to actually finish opening the box, not that he minds. “Why, do you like him? I could probably get his number for you; I could have my agent call the GQ publicist and—” 

Mark shuts him up with a quick kiss. “No, no, just this is amazing.”

Kisses have to be Mark’s favorite method for getting Jongin’s attention, especially because whenever Mark interrupts him like this Jongin pouts, and his pouts are so warm and cute they’re a major factor in global warming. Seriously, scientists have looked into it. 

“Great,” Jongin says, and leans heavier into Mark’s personal space to press a better, deeper, kiss to his lips. Mark becomes suddenly very aware that they’re both dressed in nothing but their underwear. Sure, they just spent the last hour and a half in Jongin’s bedroom, but being a twenty-year-old male, “refractory period” is not exactly a concern in Mark’s life. Neither is it in Jongin’s, but either way, if Mark is ready to go, then they both are. Something Mark learned early is that Jongin gets just as much out of pleasuring Mark, _just_ Mark, as he does himself. 

Mark is also aware that they’re making out next to an open box cutter. So he pulls reluctantly back from Jongin and shifts said razor-sharp object to the coffee table (chestnut and cherry, if you were wondering). 

“That’s my Mark,” Jongin says, and said boy tries to ignore the way his heart flip-flops at just the word _my._ That’s been happening a lot lately, and Mark should be better at reading the warning signs. “Safety first.” 

Except, nothing about letting Jongin push him down onto the couch and press their bodies together is _safety first._ It can’t be, not when Mark can feel himself slipping, falling to something unspeakable and dangerous with someone he can never fully have after only a month. What he should really do is bounce before the inevitable heartache arrives, which Mark can already see coming down the line. But he’s greedy, not with the things that Jongin gives him, but with Jongin himself, so he does nothing to stop it. 

“We should be careful of the couch,” he says into Jongin’s lips instead. The other man laughs breathily into the cavern of Mark’s mouth, his hot breath making Mark feel overheated all over. 

“I’ll just have to swallow, then,” Jongin whispers, and proceeds to slink, as smooth as a cat on the prowl, down the line of Mark’s body until his knees hit the hardwood with a light _thunk_. 

Ok, Mark’s internal crisis can wait for later. 

-

**December**

Leaving Jongin in New York sucks. It’s not just the sudden dropoff in Mark’s sex life that gets to him, either. It sucks because Mark’s spent huge swaths of time with Jongin in the past few months, and at some point, they began to do more than just have sex. Jongin gets them fancy takeout and sometimes will even break his diet to eat something not cardboard-flavored or leafy; they watch movies cuddled sweetly together on the couch, and Mark wipes Jongin’s tears away whenever an animal appears on screen; and they work out together in the building’s fancy gym wearing matching $200 Nikes. Mark’s teenage skin has even improved from all the trips to the sauna. 

By now, Mark stops to have quick chats with Jongin’s doorman, who no longer glares at him like Mark is a New York City rat that crawled out of the subway and through the front door. Even when Mark’s _not_ at Jongin’s they still text near-constantly. Usually the only break is when Jongin is either working or on a plane. 

It sucks leaving Jongin because somewhere along the line, Mark realized he’s in love with him. 

The right thing to do would be for Mark to admit his feelings to Jongin and see himself out. Feelings are a breach of their contract, because the very first thing Jongin told Mark was how he couldn’t give him a relationship. That’s what Mark wants, in his heart of hearts, but as long as he never says it out loud, he can continue to kid himself into thinking everything’s fine. There’s no room for a relationship with him in Jongin’s life, that much is clear, but in the confines of Jongin’s warm apartment, everything remains perfect. 

Jongin is temptation. His embrace is the sweetest form of cacoethes. 

It’s not like Mark can’t do casual. He’s fully capable of casual, of managing expectations in a sexual partner. He was hardly a virgin when he met Jongin and had a perfectly respectable list of conquests from Korea. But it’s different now, of course it is, because none of those people before were Kim Jongin. And if Mark’s taken any lesson to heart these past three months, it’s that Kim Jongin is utterly perfect. 

Wendy, Mark’s RA, says that everyone has their own love language. Sounds a bit silly to Mark’s ears, but honestly, he sees the proof in Jongin. He loves to touch (usually his hands are on Mark within seconds of entering), and cuddle, and kiss and hug, not always in a sexual way. Sometimes he does it just to be close. Naturally, with their arrangement, Jongin also loves to give. Not just random, beautiful things, but gifts that show he pays close attention to Mark, what he thinks Mark would like. 

There were red flags. Love doesn’t just break down your door without any notice; love leaves you a voicemail, first. Mark just ignored them, because their arrangement is the only way he gets to have Jongin, and with any change, he’s desperately terrified there will be nothing at all. He’s willing to endure some hurt to have any amount of Jongin he can for _as long_ as he can. 

Mark’s not oblivious, not totally. He knows Jongin is sorting through emotions of his own, because that’s the only way to explain the tears in his eyes when Mark left his apartment to go on break. But Jongin must be more cognizant of the boundaries of their relationship than even Mark; he leaves everything unsaid, too. And until Jongin says anything, Mark plans on keeping his mouth shut. 

He feels in over his head. No, he’s _definitely_ in over his head. The logical person to bring all this emotional constipation to would be Johnny, who, as Mark mulls his problems over in his mind, is snoring away in the business class seat next to him (Mark paid for the upgrade with his newly acquired Black Card, managing to push down the nausea when he saw the price. He explained away the new seats to Johnny as a lucky chance upgrade). 

There’s a big problem with bringing this to Johnny, though, and that’s his own involvement in this. They’ve always been on great terms as brothers, but at the end of the day, Johnny sees Mark as his darling baby bro who needs to be protected and swaddled. Just the thought of having to explain what being a sugar baby is to him makes Mark’s gut coil with shame. Not to mention it was Ten, very much the love of his brother’s life, who kickstarted the entire situation. Mark doesn’t want to see them fight. He doesn’t want to be the reason behind that kind of thing. 

So Mark lets Johnny snooze on. Fortunately, they’re on their way to Korea, which means Mark’s about to have options. 

He meets Donghyuck at hotpot, enticing the younger with promises to pay. It’s the day after he and Johnny arrived in Korea, after the mandatory family time where every single one of Mark’s relatives, most of whose names he couldn’t remember, were paraded in front of him. Mark couldn’t say he had it bad though, having just left Korea a few months ago. It was Johnny returning as the prodigal son, and was thus going to be tied up for days while Mark can find time to slip away. 

Donghyuck has been his friend since high school. When everyone in class wanted to stay away from the American kid with shoddy Korean, Donghyuck approached him at lunch, sat down with him, and basically forced them to be friends. Mark, desperate for someone to talk to, quickly accepted him. 

Now, Donghyuck has new honey-colored hair and the same laissez faire attitude. Essentially the only thing different about him from high school _is_ his hair. 

“Yo Mark, cool guy,” Donghyuck says upon greeting, throwing around some English words for effect. 

Their conversation flows easily, just like it always has. Donghyuck is in his second year at Yonsei now, thanks to no small effort on Mark’s part, studying something that may be political and may be partying. They spend the first thirty minutes just catching up, going over all the things too complicated to explain over text, and Donghyuck shows him some of his favorite hot guys at school. Mark doesn’t have any to share in return, because just googling “Kai Kim abs” would be...

Yeah. Weird. 

“His name in Renjun, and he’s an exchange student from like, Northern China or something. I know he’s kind of twinky, but—”

“You like twinky,” Mark points out. 

“True, my friend. Very true. Anyways, do you see this nose? Ugh, just adorable. He’s majoring in biochem, and so I want to get him to sneak into one of the labs with me so I can rail him on one of the tables.” 

Mark’s not so sure about that idea. “Wouldn’t it be, er, weird to fuck next to jars of dead things?” 

Donghyuck shrugs. “No way. Sounds like plenty of fun to me. He can keep his eyes closed if it bothers him.” 

“So, are you guys just casual or what? You don’t sound super... committed.” Mark stammers out. Donghyuck just gives him a look that says: _you aren’t being nearly as sly as you think, Mark Lee._

“Yeah, we’re just casual. He’s going back to China at the end of next semester, so we’re not looking into getting a dog together or anything. But that doesn’t mean we still can’t have a good time together.” 

Mark nods along. 

“So,” Donghyuck takes an obnoxious slurp from the hot pot. Thankfully, he’s appointed himself in charge of the cooking. “Are you gonna tell me what’s got your panties in a bunch now or what?” 

He sighs, deep and longsuffering. Even though he suggested this meeting Donghyuck with every intention of telling him about Jongin and maybe getting some advice, at the moment of decision-making, he doesn’t want to say anything. When he does, Jongin will no longer be his secret romance. _He’ll_ no longer be Jongin’s dirty little secret. 

But Mark trusts Donghyuck. The other boy may not seem like a good secret-keeper, but he’s ironclad when he wants to be. Plus, they’re bros forever. That’s how it works. 

“Ok, but I’m being deadass when I say you can’t tell anybody. Not to Renjun, not your mom, and not your priest, though fuck knows when the next time you’ll be at church is. Don’t even mumble it in your sleep, got it?” 

Donghyuck puts his hands up. “What is this dude, you get recruited by MI6 or something?” 

“That’s British.” 

“Whatever. Just tell me.” 

Mark takes a deep breath. “I have a sugar daddy.” 

Donghyuck screeches, a note piercing and unholy. Mark looks furiously around the restaurant, apologetically waving off any annoyed looks. He not-so-subtly kicks Donghyuck under the table, causing the other to bang the table with his knee and send some of the hot pot water splashing onto the table. God, this is a mess. This is just a huge mess. 

“I knew it,” Donghyuck says in a furious whisper. “I knew it, I fucking knew that Gucci sweater wasn’t counterfit.” 

What can Mark say? Jongin has so much Gucci he could use the t-shirts as dish towels. 

“How long?” Donghyuck questions. 

“Since basically the beginning of October.” 

Donghyuck whistles low. “Shit. I gotta say, I’m impressed, Mark. America turned you into a ho in less than two months.” 

Mark blushes and is grumbly about it. “It’s not like that man. This was an accident.” 

“Hey, I’m not judging. This is a totally judgement-free zone. You could suck a hundred old dudes off for cash and you’d still be my best friend. Maybe just my best friend with mouth herpes.” 

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problemo. So anyways, who is this guy? How’d it go down? Gimme the low down on all the dirty details.” 

This is the next big hurdle. Mark could lie and say it’s just some American banker, but that wouldn’t be getting at the heart of the issue. His real problem is that it’s not some sleazy guy, but an amazing one, and one Mark caught feelings for _fast._ If Mark told Donghyuck he was in love with a Midtown finance-bro, he’d laugh him right back out of the country. 

“Ok, so you know how my brother knows all these fashionable New York people? And like, how his boyfriend is a fashion designer?” 

“Some people know there’s more to fashion than tacky Versace and those Balenciaga sock shoes, Mark,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Iris van Herpen did an interview where she said House of Ten is one of the most promising up-and-comers in the fashion scene. We stan representation.” 

“I’m just going to pretend I know who that is.” 

“Ugh, you are so unworthy, Mark Lee.” 

“The point is, Ten got me this fancy gallery tickets and hello, free food,” Donghyuck nods knowingly, “so I went. That’s where I met him.”

“You’re holding back from me.” 

“I’m getting there. I’m just... taking my time.” Mark pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and gnaws on it. Sensing his anxiety, Donghyuck reaches across the table and takes Mark’s hand gently in his own. But he’s not going to tell Mark to drop it—Donghyuck is definitely too nosy for that. “The guy was Kai Kim.” 

Donghyuck chokes on an ill-timed bite of kimchi and immediately starts hacking up a storm. Mark tries to be helpful in sliding his glass of water over. It takes a few minutes for him to recover. When he does, he’s red all over, which is how Mark feels, too. 

_“Kim Kai?”_ Donghyuck hisses, almost too low for even Mark to hear. Mark gives him a look that says, _yeah, I can’t believe it either._

“Yeah, his real name is Jongin. We uh... hooked up in the bathroom.” 

Donghyuck reaches across the table and takes Mark’s face in both his hands, expressions dead serious. It’s startlingly, because Donghyuck is never like this. The last time he was, he was begging Mark to help him study for his entrance exams so he wouldn’t disappoint his eomma. 

“I have never, in my entire life, been so proud of you,” he says. They both break into noisy cackles, which gets the whole place staring at them again.

“You’re being serious here, right?” Donghyuck asks when they’ve both calmed down. “You aren’t fucking with me?” 

“I swear dude. No one’s more surprised by this than me. Not that anyone could be—you’re the only person who knows.” 

That catches Donghyuck off guard. “You didn’t tell Johnny? Or Ten?” Mark shakes his head. “Why not? What if Kai Kim’s involved in one of those rich people human trafficking rings? What if he sells you to a snuff porn company?” 

“Because,” Mark groans. “Johnny sticks his fingers in his ears if he so much as hears a word about my sex life. He wouldn’t get it at all. And imagine how weird things would be between him and Ten if he knew his boyfriend was the whole reason this all happened. They’re so good for each other, man, no way I could get in the way of that. And Jongin hyung’s not creepy. He’s really, really sweet, actually.” 

“I bet his abs are sweet, too,” Donghyuck sighs dreamily. Mark pinches the thin skin on the top of his hand. 

“I mean, they’re delicious, but that’s not the point,” Mark says. 

“Yeah ok, what is the point? Did you just need to get that off your chest or what? There’s something else, I can tell.” 

“There is... it’s—ugh. Sorry, this is kinda embarrassing.”

“Mark dude, I saw you shit yourself once.” 

“Fair. Jongin hyung brought me to this fancy place a few days after we hooked up and told me he wanted a quote-unquote arrangement. He’s obviously a celebrity, and he’s got this carefully curated image. So he can’t date me, but still wants to be involved with me. It’s not like I signed an agreement to get an allowance every week, but he buys me stuff. _A lot_ of stuff. And the sex is—” Mark blushes just at the thought of it. “Yeah, the sex is pretty mindblowing.” 

“Sounds ideal so far,” Donghyuck says carefully. Leading Mark right to it. 

“It _is_ ideal. He’s so perfect, so amazing. And that’s a huge problem.” Mark slouches down, dejected, until his head is pillowed on the table. The cold surface is grounding under his forehead. “I have feelings for him.” 

Mark hears the scrape of Donghyuck’s chair against the floor as the other boy gets up to join Mark on his side of the table. He feels Donghyuck’s hands, lightly calloused from years playing piano, slide across his shoulder blades. He sighs in sympathy. 

“You really can’t tell him?” he asks softly. Mark shakes his head. 

“I can’t risk fucking it up,” he insists. “I can’t ask him to mess up his career for me. I would never ask for that.”

“How do you really know it _would?”_

“I just do. Otherwise, why would he ask for this arrangement where we can’t leave his apartment together?” 

Donghyuck pauses as he ingests that information. 

“I guess you just have to ask yourself—how much are you willing to hurt yourself for this? How much can you take before it becomes too much? I’m not going to tell you it’s stupid, because you already know it’s kind of stupid. I think you’re just going to keep on doing this anyway.” 

This is what’s so good about talking to Donghyuck, someone who knows him so well. In some ways, even better than Johnny does. Donghyuck isn’t going to bother trying to convince Mark to take some other path, because he knows it’s pointless. Mark has never been good at making decisions with his own self-interest in mind, and he’s not about to start, especially not when there’s something he wants _so badly_ waiting on the other side. 

“Just... have fun with it I guess,” Donghyuck says. It makes Mark snort, because it’s _such_ a Donghyuck thing to say. Fun first, the consequences of your poorly considered actions later. “Think less, feel more. All you can do is try and promise yourself that you’ll get out before it’s really too late. No cute boy is worth getting your heart curb-stomped. You’ll have to get out before it’s too late.”

Yeah, Mark thinks he might have passed that point already.

-

The first few days at his parent’s house is rough. That’s to be expected, sure, but mainly Mark’s problems stem from the fact that while he’s there, it’s hard to get away for more than ten minutes to jerk off. 

It’s hard, ok, to go from a very regular and engaging sex life to just his hand. It’s not like Mark _wants_ to masturbate at his parent’s house. He’s young. He has needs. 

He’s doing this thing where he’s holding off on texting Jongin, besides the promised one telling him his flight arrived safely. It’s just a trial run, to test the waters and boundaries of how long he can go without feeling the pull. It’s not going well. They’re used to some distance and time between one text and the next, but Jongin’s already sent him a pouty sticker when Mark didn’t reply for a whole day. 

_sorry :(_ Mark sends as a reply. _With my fam there’s no time to breathe._

That, at least, isn’t totally a lie. 

In the meantime, he’s not hurting anyone if he just spends his time staring at the chat, not typing anything, right?

“Yo, you next?” A towel drops into Mark’s lap and he nearly jumps off the couch. It’s not that late, but his parents have already gone to bed. Johnny looks expectantly at him, wearing only boxers and drying his still-dripping hair from his shower. 

“Yeah, thanks man,” Mark replies, plan forming already. Despite being in Korea together, the brothers only ever speak to each other in English. It feels weird doing anything else, and on top of that, Mark suspects Johnny doesn’t love how much better Mark is at the language than him. It gets a little weird around their parents, however. 

“Just don’t take too long,” Johnny says as he wanders off towards the guest room. “You know how mom is about the water heater.”

With the bathroom door safely locked, Mark shucks off his t-shirt and sweatpants. He doesn’t have any personal photos of Jongin on his phone, but there are an overwhelming number of suitable ones available on the internet for free. The benefits of dating a model. 

Jerking off to Jongin’s Calvin Klein photos is definitely not his proudest move, but that’s something Mark can deal with after the post-orgasm haze. 

Not that Mark really needs the photos. They’re just, er, a helping hand. He flicks on the water, and steps under the warm stream. He has plenty enough images to get off, from the sight of Jongin’s sinful waist peeking out from his bathrobe, or how his stomach creates a perfect divot when he’s close to coming, or how he can always laugh, deep and happy, when they’re fucking. His pecs and pillowy lips are a finishing touch. 

All of it is good, and Mark wants more, more, more. 

By the time Mark gets a hand on himself, he’s already almost fully hard. Just the sight of Jongin’s bare chest provokes an almost Pavlovian response from him. Not that it matters—his goal is to get off as quickly as possible, because there’s no bigger boner kill than you mom knocking on the door asking if everything’s ok. 

When he strokes himself, he imagines it’s Jongin’s big hands doing it for him. There’s a finesse, a style, to the way Jongin gets him off, and Mark is nothing if not a good student. His thumb presses into the sensitive underside of his cock as he runs his hand up and down, setting a blistering pace, every so often adding a twist to his wrist. 

_Good, just like that,_ he imagines Jongin whispering into his ear, just over his shoulder. He has to bite his lip to keep from crying out. 

“Please,” Mark breathes out, too quiet to be heard above the noise of the spray. “More, more.” 

He changes up the pace, taking his entire hand off his shaft but for his thumb and forefinger. He rolls the head of his cock between those two fingers. Just a bit of a tease. 

He doesn’t mean to bang his head against the wall, but with the images flowing through his mind, it’s almost unavoidable. His mind automatically goes to the last time Jongin sucked him off, pressed against the closet door. Jongin had knelt before him without any warning and Mark’s basketball shorts hadn’t stood any chance. They’d just come from working out, and Mark felt sweaty, gross, and a thousand miles from sexy, but Jongin had just pressed his nose to the crease of his thigh and pelvis and inhaled like it was the best thing he’d ever smelled. 

Mark thought he was going to cum on the spot at the sight of Jongin pressing his nose to the thick hair at the base of his dick. He nearly _did_ when Jongin groaned while mouthing at his balls. 

“You smell so good,” Jongin had said, positively moaned, and then he’d hiked one of Mark’s legs over his shoulder and sucked on his balls while jerking him off one-handed.

Mark doesn’t have much need for solo sessions these days, but when he does, that’s the thought he comes back to. It would have been the sexiest thing Mark’d ever seen if Jongin did shit like that every week. 

To come, Mark really just needs a few more tugs at his head before he’s spilling over, come mixing with the water pooling down the drain. 

-

D.O.’s card may be trying to burn a hole through Mark’s wallet, but he’s not thinking about that when Donghyuck and him squeeze themselves into the space between Mark’s bed and closet, the most insulated place they could find. Of course, Mark’s mom is happy to have Donghyuck come by, and the other is equally thrilled to ingest some of her home-cooked food. Sometimes Mark thinks the two of them should just hang out together without him. 

Mark wasn’t lying to Johnny when he said he’d been writing a lot of songs. He has been, and though 50% are obviously about Jongin, and 50% metaphorically about him, Mark knows no better person to sing them than Donghyuck. Guy’s got the voice of a five-angel choir. Once, they’d dared each other to audition for an idol company, but then got bored with the idea and went out for fried chicken instead. 

With an app on his phone, Mark tunes the guitar he’s had since childhood, the one his grandmother gave him for his birthday one year. It used to dwarf him, then, but now is too small. Cradling it against his chest makes him feel nostalgic. The body is coated with memories—stickers from all kinds of open-mic cafes and his favorite bands, the noodle place he went to after every show. He has a new, better guitar that actually stays in tune in New York, but playing his first baby still makes him feel warm inside. 

They record simply, just as they’ve always done, with no fancy equipment save for the $30 field mic hooked up for Mark’s phone. First, Mark plays the song for Donghyuck, quietly singing as a guide. And then Donghyuck sings while Mark plays, and it’s great. He loves this, even when it’s just him and his longtime best friend on his bedroom floor. He can’t imagine how good it is doing it in a real studio. 

He’s not going to call D.O. Yeah, he knows you’re supposed to work any connection you’ve got in this industry, but doing so would make Mark feel weird, undeserving. Dirty. He feels he would be no better than the kids whose parents donate a lot to get them into school in the first place. 

Everything feels in place, everything feels right, as he plucks along at the guitar strings. Jongin’s not here in person, but he’s at the forefront of Mark’s mind. He may not be able to talk to many people, but writing songs is cathartic, even if he writes a thousand and only records five that no one ever hears. 

Donghyuck sways gently to the rhythm, and when he opens his mouth to sing, the English syllables come out soft and milky. 

_“And I’ve been missing... you....”_

-

_“How many more days?”_ Jongin whines through the phone. Mark laughs softly. He has to be careful to not make too many suspicious noises, not with his parents and Johnny all home to potentially hear him. As someone who got astonishing little action in high school, he’s not used to having to smother noises so much in this room. Nothing beyond masturbating, anyway. 

“Just five more until my flight, and another for me to actually get to New York,” Mark says for what is likely the sixth time. Still, like every time, heat runs through his veins just knowing how desperate Jongin is for him, how much he wants him back in his embrace. 

Yes, Mark caved. What of it? 

Three weeks was a long time, and moreover, Johnny was getting suspicious of why Mark was taking a shower every night when he’d been so negligent of personal hygiene in the past. 

Talking to Jongin is somehow even better than getting off. It’s also just _soothing,_ which is something Mark needs when his family is dragging him across Seoul every day. Mark’s managed to sneak in a few hang outs with Donghyuck, but besides that, the only time he has for himself is the hour after Johnny wanders off to his own room (to, well, probably have phone sex with Ten) and when Mark goes to sleep. And that’s if Mark doesn’t crash from the jetlag which, yes, is still going strong heading into week three. 

_“I’m so jealous,”_ Jongin says. _“I’m jealous you’re in Korea, and I’m jealous Korea gets to have you.”_

“What do you mean?” Mark laughs. 

_“I haven’t been home for a long period of time in forever,”_ Jongin sighs. _“I miss Korea. But I can’t help but also want you to be in New York with me.”_

Mark is quiet while he fishes for the right words. He wants to tell Jongin he misses him, but is that stepping over the line? Everything is so smoke and mirrors it’s hard to tell. 

_“Mark? Are you still there?”_

“Yeah! Uh, sorry about that. Something with the wifi.” Softer, Mark says, “I wish I was in New York with you too. It’s been great to see my family and all but—yeah. I just wish I was in New York.” 

_“Oh?”_ Jongin says, seduction sliding onto his voice like an overcoat. _“And what would you do if you were in New York with me?”_

Fire lights up Mark’s gut. With the amount Jongin travels, this is familiar territory for them. At first, Mark wasn’t sure phone sex would be something he could be into, but like many things with Jongin, that was quickly proven wrong as soon as he gave it a chance. 

Mark whines softly into the receiver. He’s just lying on his bed, covers tucked below his armpits, and Jongin’s breathy tone makes him squirm a bit. He’s even started to chub, his body just so attuned, so willing and open for Jongin. The sheets feel too warm surrounding him, too much stimulation on his bare legs, but he doesn’t dare throw them off. The setting, and the fear of being walked in on, is enough motivation. 

“You know,” Mark whispers. Jongin’s reply comes from a distance—he’s put Mark on speaker, the luxury of being all alone in his big place. Jongin, Mark knows, hates to be alone. 

_“I do. But I want to hear it from you.”_

“I’d touch you,” Mark starts. “No, I’d—I’d wait for you to touch _me_. I’d walk around in just my boxers until you paid attention to me.” 

_“My eyes are always on you.”_

“But your hands aren’t,” Mark reminds him. “When I’m with you, I wanna always be touching you. I need that.” 

Jongin’s exhale is shaky. _“Me too, me too,”_ he says. _“Are you touching yourself?”_

Mark eyes his erection, halfway to fully hard and gaining. So far he’s been trying to hold off touching himself directly. It’s more fun like this and besides—

“I’m waiting for you,” he says. “Don’t you want to tell me how to get off? Make me do anything you want even half a world away?” 

He can imagine perfectly Jongin’s pleased smile at his words. If Jongin were in a more playful mood, he’d be a little meaner, more mischievous. He’d play with Mark a little, and they’d both enjoy every second of it. But today, Jongin is soft. He’s so, so pleased Mark has called him, so Mark’s expecting easy. A comforting orgasm. 

Bit of a contradiction, but that’s how they roll. 

_“My good baby,”_ Jongin coos. Mark’s blush and that pleasant, tingly feeling that goes along with it travels all the way from his toes to cheeks. Already Mark’s breath is picking up. Just a small amount of praise and the promise of more is enough to do that to him. _“Do you have lube?”_

“Uhhhh,” Mark tries, mostly without success, to rummage around the nightstand with one hand while cradling his phone in the other. “No, just lotion.” 

Jongin hums on the other end of the line. Thinking. _“Not ideal, but I can work with that. Do you want that, baby? For me to make you feel good?”_

“Hyung. Please, hyung.” 

_“Ok, ok. Touch yourself, get yourself all the way hard for me first.”_

“Are you—” he stutters. Mark is always so quick to obey, but asking for anything makes him suddenly bashful. 

_“Yeah, yeah I am. You don’t even know what you do to me.”_

“Wanna see,” he mumbles, fully aware of the response he’ll get in return. 

_“I know, I know,”_ Jongin sighs. _“You know we can’t do photos, I’m sorry. I hope my voice will be enough.”_

You would think in their relationship, if it could be called that, nudes would be a staple. But Jongin is smart enough not to trust the security of his phone, especially not after his Instagram got hacked a year ago. He’s impressed on Mark many, many times that it’s not _him_ Jongin doesn’t trust (“Mark, I have great confidence in your dick-pick security”), but the rest of the world. So no suggestive photos go out, and to be fair, he doesn’t ask Mark to send any in return. 

But sometimes Mark really, really wants to. 

Ah, fuck it. 

Mark rolls over onto his side, hiking one of his legs up for support. He turns Jongin on speaker—risky, but he needs his hands—in order to shuffle his boxers down to his thighs. The best he can, he angles the phone back to get a decent shot of his ass in the room’s low lighting. Then he sends it without thinking twice. 

The sound of Jongin’s groan is totally worth it. _“Oh, thank you,”_ he says low, a little surprised but certainly welcoming. _“Oh, baby, you’re so good to me. You didn’t have to do this. What did I do to deserve such a perfect ass? So round and pretty. I want to kiss it. If I were there, maybe I would smack it, just to see it bounce.”_

God, fuck. Mark is so turned on. He’s definitely all the way hard now, and he tells Jongin as much. 

_“Good. Can you get some lotion on your fingers? You don’t want me to tease you any longer I bet.”_

Mark pumps the lotion and rubs it between two fingers close to the microphone, hoping that Jongin can hear. 

_“Go slow, ok? If you had real lube, hah, the things we’d be doing. Can you touch yourself? Can you touch your hole for me?”_

“Yeah,” Mark replies. His hand travels down his stomach without him having to consciously command it, reaching between his thighs and back towards his ass, arm brushing his hard cock along the way. Even though Jongin’s words are dirty, blush inspiring, their acts have a warm feeling to them. He likes it when Jongin gives him orders, but likes it just as much when he asks nicely, because he knows Mark will do whatever he wants no matter how he says it. 

Cold lotion and warm fingers brush over the pucker of his hole. Mark gasps, a sharp inhale he tries to cut off immediately. How is it that he can be so sensitive after only a few weeks away from being touched like this, in this place? 

Apparently Jongin can read his mind. _“Does it feel good? Have you been fingering yourself in your childhood bed, naughty boy?”_

“No,” Mark huffs. “No, because—ah, Jongin.”

_“Say it baby, please.”_

“I haven’t been touching myself, not there. Because—hngh—my hole belongs to you.” 

At first, Mark’s sordid admission is met by only silence, causing ice to rattle down spine. But Jongin’s honey voice returns to him just when he needs it. And boy, does Jongin not disappoint by positively _purring_ into the receiver. And there’s another noise, too, one that pleases Mark down to his bones—the telltale wet slide of Jongin’s palm against his cock. Jerking off just because he’s _imagining_ what Mark is doing to himself. 

Fuck. That’s just—that’s so good. 

_“You’re amazing,”_ Jongin praises. _“Rub your hole now, but promise not to get too greedy and press in. Rub your fingers in circles.”_

Jongin has him to it until Mark’s hole is wet and his thighs quivering. Jongin is patient, listening to Mark’s quiet, breathless gasps as he teases himself so much he keeps needing to re-pump the lotion. He gets close to breaching the tight pucker, and each time he does, he feels his hole fluttering around his fingertip in a way that is so, so lewd. 

_“You’re so good, Mark, so perfect,”_ Jongin encourages. _“If only I were there with you right now, talking to your Mom about her jjigae and pressing my fingers into you an hour later.”_

This time, Mark does let out an embarrassing squeak. His cock jumps, too, and he rolls off of his hip to press his now throbbing dick against the sheets. A little bit of friction for just a touch of relief. It’s the implication of _more_ that has him writhing. Not just Mark’s body belonging to Jongin, but all of him. 

_“Put a finger in now. In and out slow baby, just like I would. Fuck, I should have sent you with a plug.”_

One finger is not the most amazing thing in the world, but all of Mark’s senese are dialed up, especially imaging Jongin here doing it to him. He’s already so close to the edge, embarrassingly so, and he wonders if Jongin notices it. If he’s _that_ dialed into Mark and his pleasure that he can tell Mark is only a few strokes away from finishing. 

That’s why he doesn’t go straight for his prostate. He purposely avoids it as he fucks in and out of himself, sending a babbling stream to Jongin as he does so. 

“God Jongin, it’s so good.” Mark’s voice is broken and desperate, but it’s all too much pleasure for him to care. “I’m so—errrrg. I miss being touched like this, love it so much. Your fingers feel so good in me.” 

_“Add another?”_

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Without practice, even two stretches him. The burn is good, though. Mark loves it like this. He presses up deep and brings them nearly all the way out, until he’s longing for the pressure again.

 _“I can see your greedy little hole sucking your fingers in,”_ Jongin groans, full and open as he can do in his own apartment. _“Want my tongue in there too? You know how delicious you are.”_

“Yes,” Mark pants. He thinks about not just Jongin’s tongue, but the way he likes to give kitten nips and licks up and down the soft, sensitive skin of his inner thigh. “Lick me out, get me all wet and sloppy. I want you to fuck me with your tongue.” 

_“Oh fuck Mark,”_ Jongin swears, audibly picking up the pace of his fist. Through the haze of his building orgasm, Mark huffs out a laugh. 

“Gonna come?” he asks. “Gonna come on my wet hole, hnng? Make these sheets all dirty so I have to wash them before anyone sees?” 

_“Yes, fuck baby, yes I’m going to come. I want you too, yeah? Make yourself come with me.”_

Permission granted, Mark curls his two fingers up and presses them up into his prostate, sending electric shocks of pleasure coursing through him. At the same time, his other hand grabs his leaking cock. It doesn’t take long—a few sloppy jerks—for him to come across the bed. 

Jongin sounds incredible when he comes. It’s his most vulnerable moment, and Mark loves how he always whines and cries out, doesn’t try to be cool and manly about it with weird grunting. It’s all 100% Jongin. _Yeah,_ Mark thinks. _I did that._

 _“Good?”_ Jongin asks. He doesn’t sound tired at all. Figures, it’s already early afternoon in New York. That was Jongin’s warm up orgasm, the perfect way to start the day. Unlike Mark, who can only mumble his affirmation. 

“Now I _do_ gotta clean the sheets,” he complains with mirth. 

_“Sorry babe. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”_

“Ok.” Mark can feel sleep catching up to him by the second, but this is nice. Jongin always takes care to draw out the glow. “Imma sleep now, but will you—will you stay on the line until I do?” 

_“Of course,”_ Jongin says softly. A world away, Mark can see his gentle smile and the way he cups his cellphone. _“There’s always time to clean later. Here, I’ll sing you a song.”_

Mark nods off to the sway of Jongin’s humming. It’s a lullaby, maybe, something about the stars. 

-

**January**

It’s not like it’s any warmer in when Mark arrives in New York than when he left, but somehow the city feels renewed, fresh. The chaos of New Years Eve has come and gone without Mark having to deal with any of it, and the streets are cleared of hoards of winter tourists. Johnny, bless his heart, even pays for Mark’s uber back to his dorm all the way from JFK. 

Not that his dorm is where Mark’s going, but the gesture is sweet. 

The entire plane ride, Mark was a wreck. Butterflies, anticipation, and nerves jostled his stomach, and it was like his dick’s attached to a sensor that reacts to Jongin’s proximity. Ever had a chub on a 14-hour plane ride while sitting next to your older brother? Yeah, not fun. He’s looking forward to being back in New York for a lot of reasons, but there’s something very specific at the top of his mind. 

He never considers going home and sleeping on it. Of all the beds in New York, there’s only one he wants to go to. 

Hence why Mark ends up in front of Jongin’s door at 8:30 in the morning. 

“Hi."

It’s entirely illogical for Mark to feel nervous about waiting for Jongin, not when they’d been texting everyday for the past week, most of these messages being about how excited they were to see each other again. 

In the end, Jongin doesn’t give him the chance to get another word in. Instead of basting in nervous, awkward, silence where they don’t know what to do with their bodies, Jongin barrels through it all by scooping Mark up into a crushing hug in his doorway. Mark’s face collides with his collarbone, but that’s a small price to pay. Besides, he loves the smell of the soft cotton. 

Somehow Jongin manages to get the door closed without releasing his grip on Mark at all. He tries to pull away, but it only causes Jongin to cling on tighter, and they move through the living room in a silly middle school dance waddle that has Mark giggling nonstop into Jongin’s chest. 

Mark ends up cradled in Jongin’s lap, the other man sitting slouched against the headboard on his bed. They don’t kiss, or talk, even. They just... hold each other, Mark’s ear pressed against Jongin’s chest. It’s an NYU t-shirt, worn soft and too tight. He’s been wondering where it went, and now he knows it’s been in safe hands. Jongin’s head rests on the top of his, and for a while Mark just focuses on breathing in Jongin’s warmth to banish away the feeling of January in this chest.

He’s missed him. He’s missed him so much. 

The powers of jet lag still weigh on Mark, however much he wants to ignore them. It’s early morning, and Mark’s just flown halfway around the world to end up back in Jongin’s arms. Without so much as a full sentence passing between them, Mark finds himself drifting off. 

He doesn’t wake until some hours later, when the mass of warmth beside him shifts, and Mark groans and tries to chase after it. In the haze of slumber he thinks it’s Johnny, or maybe Donghyuck, until his eyes blink open. 

But no. There’s only one person in his life who would be grinding his hard-on against Mark’s leg in the morning. 

Their chests face each other, Mark’s hands resting against Jongin’s chest, wrapped up in the silk of the pajama shirt. Their legs are slotted together, and when Mark comes to, he realizes his face is mashed into Jongin’s shoulder. He’s probably been drooling on it for a few hours. 

Blearily, Mark wiggles his way further into Jongin’s warm, which also serves to bring him closer to the things causing him pleasure and spur Jongin on. The space behind Jongin’s ear is sensitive, he knows, and if he turns his head slightly he’ll be able to blow on it. So he does. 

Mark can feel the way Jongin laughs rumble through his chest, the vibrations moving from one body to the next. Part of him wants to go back to sleep for another day at least, but he is perfectly content to follow Jongin’s apparent agenda, too. Mark takes the initiative to meet Jongin’s grind, bringing out another pleased purr. 

Jongin is at his neediest when he’s sleepy, and he doesn’t so much as ask for a kiss as whine until Mark moves enough to meet his lips. Those perfect, lovely lips. Mark’s had specific dirty dreams about just them. 

Eyelashes fluttering against Mark’s cheeks are a very specific feeling; it’s how Mark knows Jongin is watching him while they kiss. He loves doing that—observing Mark—and it makes him feel both desperately wanted and exposed. Like if he makes the wrong expression, Jongin will instantly know everything he’s trying to hide. But right now, one hundred percent of Jongin’s attention is exactly what he wants. Nothing mattering more than them. He wants to kiss until his lips are bruised and swollen, until every word is an aching reminder of what they;ve been doing. 

Jongin ends up fingering Mark open with a languid pace, both their pajamas pulled down just far enough to pull their erections out. At some point, Jongin must have moved them to the bed while Mark was sleeping. His fingers are much longer than Mark’s, and it’s a thousand times better than any time Mark tried to do it on his own. They don’t talk much, but they don’t need to for them to make plenty of noise. 

It’s a little awkward, but Mark has one leg thrown over Jongin’s hip so that with every thrust of his (now three) fingers, Jongin also rocks his cock into the tight crease of his thigh and hip. It’s definitely doing it for Jongin, because along with each pass he feeds desperate, pitchy moans into Mark’s ear. 

“I want you to fuck me. I’ve been thinking about it all month,” Mark confesses. Jongin’s fingers curl inside him, each digit hitting Mark’s prostate. He doesn’t let up until Mark cries out and ducks his head again. While he’s there, he closes his lips around Jongin’s adam’s apple, not hard enough to leave a mark, but to be a reminder. 

“Later,” Jongin says. “There’s time, there’s time. If I want you just like this, can I?”

Mark nods. 

“Words baby, please.” 

“Yes—yes hyung. Please.” 

“Can I take you apart until you’re begging and crying on my fingers, making your hole so loose and sloppy for me?” 

The transition is sharp. Mark moans as an answer, his cock jumping and pulsing with need, and Jongin correctly takes that as a _yes, hyung, finger my wet hole open, hyung._

Jongin goes until Mark is shaking, until the burn of four fingers is replaced by pure pleasure. Jongin is whispering that he wants to plug Mark up, keep him wet and open like this all the time, even when Mark is in class. 

“No one would know, but I would. I’d know that you’re all mine, my precious baby.” 

It’s not the hardest Mark’s come, but it’s close.

And it’s even better when Jongin comes right after him, before Mark can even offer to return the favor with his mouth, spurting hot come all over the fancy silk pajamas Jongin bought him, maybe ruining them forever. Not that there’s not ten more pairs in the closet in his size. Not that Jongin won’t just turn around and buy him more. 

On the come-down, they don’t bother to clean up—they’ll get in the shower together soon enough. Jongin just strips off the silk, chucking it off into the corner to be taken to the dry cleaner’s or perhaps the dumpster. He’s obviously more clingy than usual, because as soon as Mark lays down, Jongin’s head is resting on his chest immediately. They’re quiet until their breaths sync up. 

“I didn’t know you would come today,” Jongin breaks the silence first. 

“I wanted to see you,” Mark tells him honestly. He’s being sincere, but because he’s him, that freaks him out a lot. A nervous laugh jumps from his mouth. 

Jongin rubs tiny circles into Mark’s stomach. 

“Are you softer here? You feel like it. I’m so jealous of all the good food you got to eat.” 

“Ah, hyung!” Mark whines. Luckily, Jongin can’t see his embarrassed flush. Jongin must sense it anyways though, because he presses soft kisses to his skin there following his words. 

“Don’t be shy, I love it. It makes you even cuter.” 

Jongin laughs into the space just above Mark’s belly button. The feeling of warm breath there tickles the sensitive skin, and awakens something in Mark’s dick, too. He’s very aware of the sudden change in blood flow. 

“Hey.” Mark uses his hands to tilt Jongin’s head up. But the look the other gives him is so wide-eyed and adorable that Mark gets shy again almost immediately. He powers through with a scarlet flush to his cheeks. “Let’s go shower now, kay?”

“Oh,” Jongin says breezily. He bounces out of bed and pulls Mark with him. “I’ve got other plans.”

-

The heat of the bathtub is so warm it’s bordering on overwhelming. Jongin picks out one of his bath bombs (he first offers the choice to Mark, who doesn’t know aromatherapy from body glitter) and drops it into the water, turning everything a pretty shade of purple. 

If the massive shower is the centerpiece of the ensuite bathroom, then the tub is the hidden gem. Jongin loves baths, and of course, he’s been doing his very best to teach Mark about their magic, too. 

When he slides in, Mark is still shaking off the dual effects from his nap and orgasm. The heat doesn’t make him feel much more awake, either, but it’s his first real opportunity to give Jongin all of his attention. 

With his eyes, Mark traces every line and curve of his body. He doesn’t expect to find anything has changed, but he can’t be too sure. And nothing has, of course. There’s still the same gentle rise of his pecs and his abs are soft because he hasn’t worked out today. 

They sit as opposite ends, and while Mark tries to be patient while Jongin sets up the music on his phone, he can’t resist stretching out his foot and wiggling his big toe just under Jongin’s chin. 

To his surprise, Jongin just tucks his chin down and bites it. 

“Awah!” Mark squacks, immediately retracting his foot and causing the water to splash up and out of the porcelain. Jongin just chuckles. 

“Don’t put your feet in your face unless you want them in my mouth,” he laughs. 

“Is that, uh, something you’re into.” Foot fetishes would be a new horizon for them. Jongin raises an eyebrow. 

“Are _you_ interested in that?” he returns. 

“No fair,” Mark whines. “I asked first.” 

“My answer depends on your answer.” 

“Um.” Mark blushes. “No? No, I don’t think so.” 

“Ok,” Jongin nods, and goes back to fiddling with his phone. 

“Wait. If I had said I liked feet, you would suddenly _also_ be into feet? Seriously?” 

“Yeah.” It’s Jongin’s turn to shrug. He caps it off with one of his gentle smiles that makes Mark feel light-headed and has his stomach doing somersaults. “I can be into whatever you’re into baby.” 

Instead of replying to that, Mark just slides down further into the water until just his chin is above the surface. _Good to know._ He tucks that information away for potential future use. 

The bath is nice. Mark tells him everything he can think of about Korea. Showing Johnny around the places he hasn’t been since he was a child, seeing all his cousins and friends again, going to get that pork strips they just don’t make right in the states. It’s nice being able to talk about Korea to someone who _gets_ it without needing every cultural detail explained—even Johnny isn’t the best audience. His parents live south of the Han, in some quaint residential neighborhood that’s a thousand times quieter than the street he grew up on in Queens. They have more space, too, and even a little Corgi. 

“I dunno,” Mark sighs. He’s now kneeling in front of Jongin, massaging his fancy, color treatment shampoo into the other’s scalp while he talks. “Even though I lived there in high school and went there in college, it’s still weird for me. My parents are just _so happy_ there, and I guess it’s just mind-boggling that they could be so at home there instead of New York.” 

“Home’s a strange concept,” Jongin agrees. “Think of it like this—your situation is just their’s flipped. They grew up in Korea and have a hard time seeing anywhere else as home. Even New York.” 

“What about you?” 

Jongin hums as he considers the question. Mark doesn’t know if it’s conscious, but when he closes his eyes, he leans into Mark’s touch. 

“Before I was a model, when I was just a dancer, I didn’t speak English. I kind of still don’t,” he laughs. 

“No! It’s good, I promise,” Mark says. 

“You don’t have to be sweet like that, my feelings aren’t hurt. But as soon as I did learn some of it, the world opened up to me more, I think. I started to see places other than Korea as a possibility. London and Paris are fine, good for their own reasons, but LA is too... too much. Milan is wonderful—I’ll have to bring you there. As soon as I spent my first magical weekend in New York, though, I knew this was a place to stay.” 

“Would you ever go back? To Korea, I mean.” 

Jongin’s eyes blink back open. He peels Mark’s wet bangs back from his forehead with his palm until it comes to cup the back of his head. He pulls Mark forward then into a chaste kiss. Mark has to place his hands on Jongin’s chest for balance, while the man’s other hand emerges from the water to trace the lines of Mark’s ribs. 

“I’ve decided for the new year not to think about the future too hard,” he says. “If you do, you’ll be less willing to go along with things as they come. That’s an important thing for me right now.” 

Although he asked the question, Mark doesn’t exactly know what to do with the answer he’s gotten. There’s something important in there, but his jet lag-addled brain doesn’t know what to do with it at the moment.

So Mark decides to kiss Jongin again, because that’s always a good move. 

It shifts their dynamic away from cozy, chatty bath time to something more heated, a natural continuation of their time in the bedroom. Jongin never fucked Mark for real, anyway, and they should get going before the water gets cold and Mark’s toes prune. That’s not cute. 

Jongin’s arm curls around Mark and pulls him closer, closer, until there’s nothing between their bodies but a few drops of water. Mark’s knees slide along the slick tub bottom, causing the lilac water to slosh about, but it causes Jongin to hoist Mark’s thighs up like he weighs nothing, until he’s positioned over Jongin’s lap, straddling him. 

“Slide down,” Mark says into the kiss. “My back is getting cold.” 

“I’ll have to keep you warm, then,” Jongin says, and because that’s a ridiculously cheesy line, Mark laughs, and Jongin snickers, too. But he also follows Mark’s suggestion and reclines them until only their shoulders peek out from the water. 

From there, everything relies on feeling. Any leftover sensitivity from earlier is gone, replaced by the heat of arousal. Mark lets Jongin do the beginning work for them, careful of the water level. From where Mark is seated on the other’s lap, their dicks slot together in the perfect way for Jongin to get his hand around them both. With the feeling of Jongin growing bigger and harder under him, Mark just needs a little bit of friction to get himself going. 

When a particularly strong wave of arousal hits him, Mark allows himself to fall forward, hands moving from gripping Jongin’s shoulders to the back of the tub, where the jet controls are. Because Jongin in Jongin, he naturally has even a tricked-out bathtub complete with all kinds of jacuzzi features. 

Mindful of both of their positions, Mark flips the jets onto low. 

In his ear, Jongin moans.

One jet is directly below where he sits, and with a small shift, Mark knows Jongin has fitted his ass right above it. Mark places small kitten nips against the side of his neck as his hand slides down his body, under the water, to the plush curve of Jongin’s ass. When Mark takes it in his hands and _squeezes_ , Jongin positively purrs. 

“Do you want to...?” Jongin is offering. They haven’t—not yet—but the possibility has been there since the beginning. 

Mark shakes his head. “Nah, I’m already stretched. Let’s do it like this.” Aware that he’s not exactly being sexy, he tries to bat his eyelashes and mostly succeeds. “Fuck me, please?” 

“Ok baby,” Jongin breathes in his ear. “Because you’re so cute when you ask to be fucked.” 

Being wet doesn’t make Mark feel all that sexy, but he _loves_ Jongin like this. Makeup and styling gone, all of his defenses down. His hair, normally defiant of gravity, falls just above his eyes and frames that beautiful face in a way that makes him look so young and innocent. 

Jongin kisses him again. “You’re cute all the time, but especially right now. Ask me again?”

“Please,” Mark whines. “Please fuck me.” 

The water feels so good against the most sensitive parts of him, making it feel all the more better when Jongin slides in smoothly. He doesn’t so much thrust as rock up into Mark, the motion of his hips making small waves in the tub that their fucking follows the rhythm of. 

If Mark thought he missed Jongin’s fingers, then he doesn’t know how to describe how much he’s missed his cock. 

“Nghhhh, so good,” he gasps. It’s fortunate he doesn’t have to go far to reconnect their mouths in a sloppy kiss. 

“Yeah?” Jongin pants into his mouth. He pushes up further into him, brushing his wet thumbs over Mark’s nipples, which by now will definitely be bruised tomorrow. 

They’re both still tightly wound, even after the first round, that much is clear. Mark feels tense, not from a lack of preparation, but something else. Jongin’s in a similar state, if the strain of his muscles are anything to go by. This slow, rolling pace is all he can do to hang on. 

Mark wants more, more of the drag of Jongin’s cock inside him, but he knows he wouldn’t be able to handle it. This already is nearly too much of a sensory experience. It’s warm and close and _perfect._ Mark is so hot and flushed, he feels out of his mind, out of his body. Against the slide of Jongin’s lips, he whines pitifully. 

“I know, I know,” Jongin says softly, punctuating his words with stronger thrusts. “What do you want? Does my baby want it harder?” 

“Mmmmf,” is all Mark manages. 

Jongin’s hands stop any ministrations they might have been up to so Jongin can wrap him tight in his arms. Mark thinks he may be a mind-reader, because that’s just what he wants. Not be fucked harder, not right now. He wants to be close. 

In this position, there’s almost no friction against his cock, but Mark can feel his orgasm building regardless. The dangers of sexual frustration, kids, and they don’t teach that one in sex ed. It’s why every semi-closeted kid Mark slept with in college blew their loads five minutes into a hand job. That’s what Jongin has reduced him to, and it seems the other has got him exactly where he wants him. 

Mark does himself a few good strokes, but has to pull off. He doesn’t want to come yet, not until he knows Jongin is close, too. 

“Missed this,” he says to distract himself. Jongin is fucking him so good that he’s not entirely in control of the words coming out of his mouth. 

“My cock?” Jongin asks, amused. “How good I fuck you?” 

“Missed _you,_ ” Mark insists. 

“Fuck,” Jongin swears. “Fuck, fuck.” 

He bucks up into Mark much more suddenly, and in surprise Mark gets jostled up and forward, barely catching himself against the slick porcelain. Jongin’s forehead is pressed against his shoulder, his eyes screwed shut tightly. Since he doesn’t move again, Mark chooses to fuck himself back onto him. 

“Stop.” The arms around his shoulders ground all movement. Jongin sounds wrecked. “I’ll come. It’s too soon.” 

“So come,” Mark says, permission slipping by easily. They’ve gone for hours in the past, but here they are, desperate after a few minutes in the bathtub. “Come in me and make me messy just to clean me up all over again. I want it, hyung. Hyung, _please._ ” 

So Jongin gives it to him. It’s uncoordinated and tense, and every sudden movement sends the bath water into chaos, most of it ending up on the tile floor. None of that matters, though, while they chase their shared ecstasies. 

Mark comes first, fucking into his fist, head of his dick bumping Jongin’s stomach with every thrust. His legs are definitely sore, but he begs Jongin to keep going, because he knows the other is close by the stutter in his pace. 

Groggily, Mark winds his hand down between Jongin’s legs, sliding two fingers between Jongin’s cheeks. It opens Jongin up to a cleaner hit from the jets, exactly what Mark is aiming for. 

Jongin cries out Mark’s name when he comes. 

“You’re incredible,” he says as he’s wrapping Mark up in a thousand towels. His fingers pruned after all, but Jongin, sweet as can be, kisses and nibbles them. 

Since Mark is still pretty sleepy, he can pretend he heard _I love you_. It’s close enough. 

-

It takes Mark until the next evening to leave. For once, he has plans with someone who isn’t Jongin—his college roommate, Yangyang, is flying back from Germany and they have a pact to get sweet and sour dumpling soup in Chinatown. 

They’ve put a lot of time and effort into catching up on all the missed sex, naturally, but they do still find time to talk, too. Luckily, they’re both multitalented. 

It’s when they both actually need a full, multi-hour break that Jongin breaks out the presents. Mark’s been expecting this the whole time, and he’s honestly impressed Jongin held out this long. 

The first are a pair of gloves, fine, deep brown leather lined with the coziest material Mark’s ever touched. That, of course, is a winter gift that goes along with the russet cashmere sweater. A Canada Goose jacket would be an obvious winter gift, save for the fast that Jongin already got him one. It’s red, because Jongin likes him in red. 

Also, because no one else has done more for Mark’s personal hygiene, Jongin also gives him a suite of things that smell good, including a monstrously expensive body wash, a Tom Ford cologne, and some Le Labo candles. 

“This one is earthy,” Jongin explains, like that is supposed to mean anything. “I thought it would be good for your dorm room, to make it feel more, yanno, homey.” 

Mark isn’t going to interrupt the moment by telling him candles are technically _banned_ in the dorms. Fortunately, Mark happens to know Wendy is herself obsessed with Le Labo and is always reposting their Instagram giveaways, so Mark thinks a bribe here will be rather effective.

Of course, all of this comes inside an item Mark never thought he would see in person, much less own. The Louis Vuitton x Supreme duffle bag, red and gaudy in all its glory, and object of lust for every Instagram hypebeast on the planet. 

“Oh damn,” Mark says when he first sees it. Jongin beams bright enough that it could probably get picked up by NASA. He does this when he finds something _extra_ perfect for Mark and he’s really pleased about it. “This is so sick, like, for real.” 

Which is a lame thing to say in the face of such extravagance, but Jongin just looks at Mark with the dopiest grin. 

“Great,” he says. “Did you follow my directions and give your family good things?” 

“Oh yeah.” It feels a bit weird talking about all the things Mark spent Jongin’s money on. The gifts are one thing, but spending on Jongin’s account is another. “I uh, figured you’d look at the statement.” 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Jongin frowns. “Privacy. Plus, what if you wanted to buy a sexy nurse outfit to surprise me with?” 

“Oh, _god,_ please do not talk about that in the same conversation as my parents,” Mark moans. Not in a sexy way. Jongin just giggles, amused by the emotional torture he puts Mark through. “I got uh, my brothers this lense he wanted, and my mom all kinds of cooking... stuff? Weapons? Oh, and I got my friend Donghyuck a new headset!” 

“Was it good to see everyone? Your family and your friend—Donghyuck you said?” Jongin’s expression is incredibly soft, like something Mark can rest his head on at night. Tender. 

“Yeah, it _was_ really nice.” Mark allows himself to talk for awhile about Donghyuck and his other friends. The entire time Jongin watches him with rapt attention, like Mark hung the moon and a couple dozen stars while he was at it. 

“Now you know why I call Donghyuck a brat. But he does put up with my crap as much as I do his. And no shit Jongin, he’s _so_ fucking talented. We were fooling around and recording all these songs together and man did they come out good.”

“Really?” Jongin’s ears perk up. “You recorded stuff? Can I hear?” 

“Aaaaaaaah.” Mark’s brain stalls. It’s not that he doesn’t want to show Jongin the songs, it’s just that they’re all about _him._ Maybe he can pass them off as being about his high school crush. Yeah, he’ll try that. “Ok. Sure. Yes. Totally.” 

Looking at their setup through his phone screen in front of Jongin, Mark’s a little embarrassed by it, as well as by the ugly plaid of his bedspread. 

“Those are your glasses?” Jongin asks. He positions himself so he’s curved around Mark’s back, watching with his chin tucked over his shoulder. Mark is indeed wearing his round specs that Ten suggested he buy, which he’s yet to let Jongin see him in. “They’re so chic—I love them. You should wear them more so your eyes don’t get tired from your contacts. I’ve heard that’s bad for you.” 

He’s only _heard_ because, obviously, Jongin’s eyes are as flawless as the rest of him. 

Mark’s whole body isn’t in the frame, but he knows he’s all Jongin is watching. The other’s mind is probably churning looking at the old guitar, getting filled with all sorts of _ideas._ While the song goes on, Jongin softly hums along even though he doesn’t know the tune and taps the rhythm into Mark’s stomach with the pads of his fingers. When Donghyuck sings, he _oohs_ and _aahs_ in a way that’s very appreciative of Donghyuck’s talents. 

The short recording ends. “Wow,” he says softly. The arms curled around Mark’s waist hold him tighter. If anything about the lyrics hit home for him, he keeps it to himself. “You’re so, so talented Mark, really. You’re like, a genius.” 

Mark squirms out of his hold. He stands up to stretch, move his body around to release some nervous energy. “Nah man, I’m not at all,” he says, bashful. “It’s just something I do for fun.” 

Jongin frowns at him. “Don’t discount yourself like in front of me,” he scolds gently. “The song’s great, Mark. Will you send it to me?” 

“If you really want it.” That at least gives Mark something to do with his hands. 

“You know, D.O. would really like to hear this. I bet he would agree with me on how good it is.” Mark flinches. Yeah, ok, they’re doing this. “I heard from him that you never gave him a call. Kyungsoo is intimidating at first, but I swear he’s really nice. I just—I thought it would be good for you, is all.” 

By getting on his feet with Jongin still reclined on the couch, Mark’s put himself in no man’s land. He fidgets where he stands, but there’s nowhere for him to go to get some cover. There’s no way he can look Jongin in the eyes right now, not when the other’s voice is filled with so much disappointment. 

“It is! It’s a great opportunity Jongin, but I... I don’t know, I’m not ready for a big time producer to look at my stuff. It’s still at the stage where it feels too private.” That’s only partly the truth. The other, more significant, factor is that it makes Mark feel _gross._ Mark meets kids everyday who are just at school because they’re supposed to be—at any time, they could call their executive mothers or director uncles and do whatever they want without having to really work for it. 

And Mark? Mark wants to feel like he worked for it. He needs his music to feel like something that belongs to him and gets him places because it’s good, not because Jongin dropped the perfect connection into his lap. 

“If that’s how you feel.” Jongin’s face falls. It’s the first of his gifts—or anything at all—that Mark’s rejected. It’s not difficult to see he’s crestfallen. 

“Hey, I got you a gift, too!” Mark exclaims, desperate to change the topic. He scrambles off the couch and to his bag, still discarded by the doorway. When he returns to the couch Jongin pouts at him. 

“Baby,” he whines, drawing out the y. For now, it seems like he’s willing to drop the conversation. Fighting isn’t part of their arrangement. They don’t talk about the tough stuff. “I get _you_ stuff. That’s how it goes.” 

“I—I know, but—” Mark stutters. He sits down next to Jongin with an awkward flop, further away than he normally would. In his hand is a simple white envelope, discreet, and he’s suddenly worried his palms will start sweating on it. Good look, Mark. “Well, your birthday’s coming up. I guess I just wanted to do something nice.” 

Jongin reaches over to hold the hand lacking the gift. “Thank you, Mark,” he says seriously. Mark seriously swoons. He has to keep his jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering as Jongin opens it. 

Mark is really proud of this gift. Obviously, Jongin has everything he wants and plenty of money to get anything else his heart catches whimsy of. That’s a nearly impossible person to buy for, and Mark could have just gotten sex, but they already have sex. A lot of it. He wants to do something actually special. 

Inside the envelope are tickets to the ballet. 

Jongin’s breath stops short, all of it stolen from his lungs. He looks up at Mark with wide, blinking eyes, and he holds the look even after the first few tears drop down his cheeks. 

“Hey, hey!” Mark slides up close to him in a flurry of panic. He tries to wipe the tears away but Jongin just scrunches his face up further and cries harder. Mark might have a full-blown sobbing situation on his hands, and they’ve done emotions but nothing like _this_ , and should Mark just see himself out? Should he take the Supreme bag? God, he’s such a fucking moron—

“This is the sweetest—hic—thing I’ve ever gotten,” Jongin says through the wet heaves. He’s still looking at the tickets, not the best seats in the world because Mark bought them with his own money, and has managed to avoid getting tears on them. It’s a Balanchine night. Firebird. 

Jongin tackles him, wrapping Mark up and overwhelming him with the full force of his love and adoration. They fall backwards onto the couch with Jongin pressed over him, his hands in Mark’s hair, down his side, tucked around his shoulders, everywhere. He presses chastes kisses to any place on Mark’s face he can reach, to the point where it crosses the line into ridiculous instead of an emotional onslaught, and Mark is giggling in the other’s hold. 

Even when they separate they don’t go far, just enough so their foreheads remain pressed together. It’s kind of awful—Mark wants him back right away. Jongin’s whole face gets red and puffy along with his eyes when he cries, and his lips somehow look even more plush. Jongin gazes at him with an expression that can only be described as _reverently_. 

“C’mere,” Mark says, and they meet for another kiss. Jongin lets Mark lick into his mouth, runs his tongue along Jongin’s bottom lip, so that when they pull apart for air a thin line of saliva comes too. 

_I love you_ , every part of Mark screams. _I love you._

“Thank you,” Jongin repeats, voice still thick with emotion. “This is so thoughtful. I never go anymore—I never _think_ to go anymore, and I—wow.” His heart is out there, open and raw for Mark to see. Jongin’s only mentioned his training a few times, the years and years he spent studying ballet only to get injured and scouted by a modeling agency while hobbling around on one leg. That last part Mark learned from his Wikipedia page. Mark doesn’t need Jongin to talk about it, especially if it hurts him to. He can tell just from the Stravinsky that’s always on. “It’s ok, don’t cry.” 

“Wait, shouldn’t I be telling you that?” Mark reminds Jongin that _he’s_ the one crying. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. 

“You’re right. Say it.” 

“It’s ok.” Mark doesn’t hesitate. And for the moment, D.O. and everything else is out of his mind when Jongin leans down to kiss him again. 

-

The plastic tarp masquerading as Mark’s dorm room mattress feels ten times harder when Mark flops down on it. He doesn’t even attempt to unpack his things, instead just dumping his backpack, suitcase, and newly acquired duffle bad straight onto the narrow gap of floor between he and Yangyang’s bed. Even though the bed feels like a rock, he could probably curl up and sleep there for the next five days. 

Eventually, he must fall asleep at some point—clothes and all—because the next thing he knows is Yangyang’s shrill greeting and a violent shaking. 

“Yo dude! How was the motherland! Oh shit, did you just get back from spending time with money-bags lover boy? Don’t lie to me, I peep that Supreme.” It takes a good minute for Mark’s brain to even process what Yangyang is saying, considering he talks at a thousand miles per second, an extremely impressive feat for someone with English as their _third_ language. 

Basically, Yangyang (Milo to the English-only white people crowd) knows about Jongin because there’s no way Mark would ever be able to keep the flow of expensive gifts and extended period of absence from his bed on the down-low. Their room is basically a prison cell—they don’t have the square footage for secrets. He just doesn’t know _who_ it is.

“You know how it is,” Mark groans. “Parents had me on an itinerary almost the whole time. How was Germany? Did you spend the whole time in Dusseldorf or did you end up going skiing?” 

Yangyang bounces on his own bed and grins sharply. “Oh yeah we went skiing. Some quaint resort in Switzerland with nothing but the mountain and the bar. Swiss girls man, there’s nothing like them. And Swiss dudes. The Swiss in general are hot and can spit on me whenever. It’s a good thing you can push the beds together in hotel rooms, if you know what I’m getting at.” 

Another reason Mark felt comfortable telling Yangyang: his stance on sexual liberation. To all the Europeans out there, cheers. 

“I got more fancy candles,” Mark tells him. Yangyang is a sucker for a good smell. “And an extra to bribe Wendy with. She’s back, so we can drop it off to her later when no one’s around. You hungry? I’m starving man.” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Yangyang woots. “Let’s go to Chinatown. You know your boy is going to hook you up with that good-good insider dumplings. The old ladies at that place have such a soft spot for me.” 

It’s true. Old ladies love Yangyang. 

They get dumplings for free, successfully bribe Wendy, and life trundles on. In a few more days the new semester starts and Mark begins the arduous process of dragging himself back into the routine of school. He’s taking some interesting classes, like a psych course on systematic racism and a digital recording technology one. Then there’s the class he shares with Yangyang, a multimedia class that piques his interest on the first day because the syllabus outlines a year-long video project as the final. The professor tells them she more or less unleashes them on the city and tells them to go wild. Sounds good to him. 

Together, he and Yangyang thump down the stairs after class gets out, following the stream of the rest of the students towards the street. They’re slippery with slush. Mark has a few texts waiting for him. 

One from Johnny, reading _fuck ive missed chipotle so much. and american netflix_

 _U need a vpn, boomer,_ Mark replies to that one. _Region-locking is for suckers and cops_

There’s also one from Jongin. 

_Can I see you tonight?_

Jongin’s always very polite when he texts, unless he’s trying to get into Mark’s pants. Not that he really has to _try._

Down by the door, Yangyang is dutifully waiting, because Mark has trouble texting and walking at the same time. Because it’s the first week back there’s a bunch of events to go to, and Hendery, this guy Yangyang’s got a huge crush on, is performing in a comedy show with a big afterparty in Greenwich Village. Mark promised he’d wingman. Reluctantly, he replies:

_Cant, promised a friend id hang. But ill see you soon!!_

Jongin’s reply comes instantaneously, even Mark knows from stalking his Insta story during class that he’s at a fitting, preparing for fashion week next month. Not for the outfits he’s _walking_ in, mind you, but the streetwear he’ll be seen and photographed everywhere in. 

_But that’s two days away :(_

_I’m already having Mark withdrawals._

_Distance makes the heart grow fonder,_ Mark replies. 

_Distance makes my heart grow MARK-ER_

_U cant see me rn but i groaned out loud and now ppl are looking_

_I hope they do. But only I get to touch._

“Took you long enough,” Yangyang rolls his eyes when Mark gets to him. He mumbles out an apology, but Yangyang shrugs it off without issue. “Loverboy must have amazing game to keep your ADD-ass occupied.” 

Mark shoves his shoulder. “Maybe _you’re_ just not that interesting, huh?” he retorts. Yangyang raises an eyebrow at him and oh, it’s on. 

Later, after they’ve verbally-spared to a stalemate, they get ready for the comedy show like it’s the biggest event of the year. Mark feels a bit like Jongin preparing for the Met Gala or something, because at a show like this, everyone who’s anyone will be there looking fly as fuck. Comedy shows are a big deal around campus, especially since at the last big one, Jerry-fucking-Seinfeld showed up. Every loose acquaintance in Mark’s college circle will be there 

The pre-game consists of two god-awful vodka shots and pouring the rest in a water bottle mixed with Sunny-D. Yangyang calls it the College Special Screwdriver, and Mark calls it Portable Jungle Juice. It’s a guaranteed cocktail for disaster, but that’s also basically what they’re after. It’s Thursday night, they’re young and in college, and it’s time to make some sloppy mistakes. 

Mark manages to squeeze into these YSL leather pants Jongin gave him, under the flagrantly false pretense that Jongin bought them for himself and they were too small. Which is—it’s totally ridiculous, because they’re not even close to the same size. If Mark knew the price of them he’d probably pass out. Yangyang insists on all-black everything else; as he puts it, Mark looks like a “hot piece of ass” in black. 

He sends a stupid photo of himself posing with Yangyang in their mirror together to Jongin before he can think better of it. Jongin just replies with four exclamation points, which Mark takes to mean his outfit has been officially blessed by the other. 

By the time they actually arrive at the show, half of the water bottle is gone and Mark already feels drunk off his ass. Judging from the stickiness level of the floor, he’s not the only one. There’s something really appealing about this, though, something as undeniably fun as it is stupid. With Jongin, Mark’s had some of the finest wine and fancy scotch’s in the world, but tonight, the vodka goes down just as smooth. 

Did Jongin ever have a phase like this? It’s hard to imagine the model doing anything nearly as sketchy. He’s down to earth, though. Maybe he would like it; Mark wants to think that he would. 

The people they sit next to (Vernon and... Annie?) offer them both a nip of Dr. Mcgillicuddy’s, and after that point, time becomes a flat circle for Mark. The comedy show is probably hilarious, but Mark laughs until his stomach hurts even if it’s not. Then they’re getting up, and Mark is caught in the throng of people leaving. Some Australian dude named Chris, who’s also in Mark’s major, throws his arm around him and leads him to the back room, where fortunately, they run back into Yangyang. 

Sadly, Yangyang is not yet wrapping his mouth around Hendery’s dick, which Mark tells him plainly is indeed sad. Yangyang squeals, because apparently Hendery is like, right there, and oh, Mark also tells him he did a great job on stage. Super funny guy, even if he has a super funny name. Maybe that’s part of it.

“Holy fuck mate,” Chris is hunched over laughing to the point where getting the words out is difficult. Hendery is laughing too though, so it’s probably all good. “You are so trashed. I love it.” 

Mark lobs his phone to him. “Take a video so I can send it to my mom.” 

“Your mum?” Chris says incredulously, but films Mark anyways because why the fuck not. Mark strikes his best model poses that he definitely doesn’t practice in the mirror pretending to be Jongin. He doesn’t do that because _that_ would be ridiculous. Definitely, definitely not. 

“Nah,” Yangyang rolls his eyes “He’s gonna send it to his loverboy because he knows his ass looks fat and he wants a dick pick.” 

God, is Mark really that transparent? 

“Yup,” Yangyang answers. “How you doing man, smelling any colors yet?” 

“I can’t smell anything over the stench of your unwiped ass,” Mark fires back. Fortunately, he’s got a stomach of steel. Man, he feels _great._

“Don’t complain when you love to lick it,” Yangyang says. “Ok, uber’s here. You wanna get in on this Chris or what?” 

The four of them—Mark, Yangyang, Chris, and Hendery—pile into the uber. There’s a brief moment of panic where Mark thinks he may puke, but it passes. Also, it turns out that although Chris has a wicked Australian accent, he’s also Korean and can kinda-sorta speak it. That’s great for Mark, whose bilingualism tends to get tangled up when he’s been drinking. And he’s been _drinking._

They make it to the party, which is held in one of those strange converted factory apartment buildings, so the place _should_ be an open loft, but because rent is expensive, the people who live there put up some fake walls to make multiple bedrooms. Mark doesn’t know them directly, but Yangyang does. Maybe they’re who he hangs out with when Mark is with Jongin. 

Speaking of Jongin, he sent Mark a reply to his video, but he still has the presence of mind not to open it just yet. He wants it to be a surprise, and also wants to be sober enough to enjoy it. 

Fuck, now thinking about Jongin has started to get him horny, and also a little sad, because Jongin’s not here at this dumb, fun party, and never will be because Mark isn’t allowed to take him places. He giggles at the thought of Kim Jongin amongst all the hipster NYU students with Warby Parker glasses and shaved heads, because the image is objectively hilarious. 

Someone shoves a solo cup into his hand—probably Chris—and tells him it’s White Claw. It may be winter, but claw season is all year, baby. Rudely, though, it turns out to be just plain old water. Mark’s thirsty though, so why not drink it? Yeah, water, the nectar of life. 

They dance. And by dance, Mark means thrash around. The music is terrible Eurotrash knockoff that’s so bad it’s good. He doesn’t dance _with_ anyone directly, but rather it feels like the entire room is moving as a single entity. Mark passes from person to person, going from complete strangers, to floormates, to friendly faces, until he ends up back to Chris, who shoves a few ice-cubes into his hand for him to chew on and maybe not die. 

The shocking coldness is refreshing against his palm. He slides them against the back of his neck and, holy shit, for the first time in _hours_ he feels like he’s back to being part of reality. A little. 

“Hey!” he gets up close to Chris’ ear, cupping his hand over the thick mass of blond curls to block some of the pounding noise. “Gotta go piss.” 

“You good?” Chris screams back. It’s touching, Mark thinks, that although they barely know each other, Chris is so concerned for him like this. 

“All good!” Mark flashes him a thumbs up. He then pushes his way through the crowd (hot tip: don’t be afraid to use your elbows!) to a less-crowded part of the apartment and what may possibly be the bathroom. He finds it, but the line is five people deep and not moving. So instead, Mark heads for the congregation of people smoking cigarettes and Juuls around an open window leading to the fire escape. 

Yangyang and Hendery are there, too. They’re looking very cosy, which gives Mark a warm feeling in his stomach that’s not the vodka. 

“Hey guys,” he greets. Yangyang throws his arms around him suddenly. 

“Yo man! I thought I’d lost you! You’ve got to respond to your messages, man. I thought about going back to the dorm to see if you ended up there. Everything ok?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark says. “It was touch-and-go for a bit, but I feel a lot better now. Still drunk but not like—” Mark swirls a finger around his head in a circle. “Loopy.” How long has it been? It feels like barely an hour has gone by since the end of the comedy show. He pads his pockets for his phone and finds it sticking halfway out of his right back pocket. 

His battery is on 5%. The time reads 2:14am. He’s got five texts from Yangyang, three from Jongin, and a missed call. 

Now that he’s not completely wasted, Mark can finally place an emotion that’s been following him like a stray all night. He misses Jongin. 

“I’m gonna go crawl out onto this fire escape and piss in this flower pot,” Mark announces. This is overall seen as a shrewd and creative move. “And then make a call while my battery lasts. Don’t look at my dick, please.” 

Business done and dick cold, Mark leans up against the brick exterior. It’s impossible to have a hard-on outside in January in New York, but Mark calls Jongin not so he can get off, simply to hear his voice. 

_“Mark?”_ Jongin’s voice is raspy. Sleepy. 

“Hey,” Mark says, too loud at first. Softer, he says, “did I wake you? I’m sorry. I’m not really, uh, with it all the way right now.” 

_“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t even have to get up early tomorrow. Or today, at this point. I saw your video—you look incredible in my pants. Did you see my photo?”_ Jongin’s voice is low, not entirely seductive, yet. It won’t be a picture of Jongin, but the other can be creative. If Mark weren’t so cold and drunk, his dick would be showing interest.

“I’m saving it,” Mark tells him. “I want to be able to appreciate it fully.” 

_“Did you have too much to drink? Are you feeling ok? I can send a car to come get you.”_

Mark smiles to himself, feeling overwhelmed and dizzy and _loved._ “A lot of people have been asking me that tonight. I’m with good people. I’ve got a lot of good people.” 

_“That makes me happy to hear.”_

“You too!” Mark says, hoping Jongin doesn’t feel excluded. “You’re one of my good people. You’re my _best_ people.” 

_“That doesn’t make sense, but I think it was a complement.”_

“Yes,” Mark says. He presses his face against the brick, the rough surface feeling good against his cheek. Fuck, now that the peak of his drunkness has faded, he feels so tired And because of that, all of his walls are down. “My phone is dying but I wanted to hear you. You’re more important than an uber.” 

_“You should be thinking about your safety, baby.”_

“Nooooo,” Mark whines. “Don’t lecture me when I want to be sweet on you.” He checks his phone again. 1% now. With the cold draining his battery, the call could end any minute. 

_“Sweet? I can do that. When you make it home, curl up in bed and imagine I’m there with you. I bet your bed is really small, so we’d have to sleep all snuggled up together.”_

“We do that anyways,” Mark points out. 

_“That’s very true. If I were there, I’d sing you lullabies and rub your cute tummy. But because I’m not there, you have to take care of yourself for me. Do you understand?”_

Mark nods, before he realizes that Jongin can’t see that. “Yes babe.” 

_“Oh baby,”_ Jongin says, voice so tender at the nickname. _“Baby, you know that I—”_

The call drops. The black screen of Mark’s dead phone stares back at him, obstinate. Life is so unfair. 

Mark goes to throw up in the planter. 

-

They don’t get to go to the ballet until a week after Jongin’s actual birthday. First he’s in Milan, then he’s in Paris, abs glistening with oil and body glitter alongside Gigi Hadid. There’s something that seems so cruel about forcing him to make his birthday something for the _public_ instead of for _himself._ But now, he’s all Mark’s.

And for the first time, Jongin offers Mark straight up cash for his time. “I’m asking for a lot of your time and commitment,” he says. “I want to make sure I’m holding up my end of the deal.” Mark knows Jongin isn’t going to take no for an answer here. Despite not feeling great about it, he accepts the money. Three grand for something he would do for absolutely free. 

Jongin dresses them up to go out, matching but not _too_ matching, although they won’t be going there together. A visit to the New York City ballet qualifies as a dressing up experience, as does it being Jongin’s birthday. For discretion, they’re taking separate cars. The mob of paparazzi that regularly congregate outside the building probably believe he lives there, and have never once taken a picture of him on his own.

The theater is close enough that he could probably walk, but again, New York in January. 

By no means are the seats Mark bought box seats, but they’re pretty decent, right in the middle of the row. And better yet, the people inside the theater don’t bother them, probably because the demographic for a Saturday night ballet don’t have much overlap with Jongin’s fanbase. 

Mark makes it to his seat first and gets to watch as Jongin enters the auditorium. While the patrons don’t know him, the staff do, Jongin having made some significant contributions in the past. Mark watches as they take one look at his ticket and try to upgrade him to better seats. 

With a subtle tilt of his head, Jongin winks at Mark. The staff are gently rebuffed and Jongin bounds up the steps towards him, grin unhidden and unburdened. When he scoots by the girls at the beginning of the row, even they swoon. 

Jongin’s legs bounce with excitement as soon as he sits down. For the moment, while the lights are up, Mark pulls back the urge to settle his hand across his knee. When the lights are down, and all eyes are focused elsewhere. 

“This is great,” he tells Mark. Jongin’s been repeating some form of that and _I’m so excited_ for the past few days. The show’s music has been playing nonstop around Jongin’s apartment, and even now he hums it under his breath. “Should we get champagne? I feel like the moment calls for champagne.” 

“I’m good just like this,” Mark says. On the floor, he crosses his foot under Jongin’s ankle, weaving them together. 

“If you’re good, then I’m good.”

Jongin shuffles closer the minutes the lights go down and the orchestra hums into tune. His hand finds the inseam of Mark’s slacks, above his knee but not high enough to be scandalous. The curtains draw. Before them, the music of Firebird unfurls in wonder, a flower in bloom during the dead of winter. Mark fits his hand over Jongin’s, exactly where it belongs. 

-

Against Mark’s cheek he can feel the wetness of Jongin’s tears. 

He’s pressed up against the corner of the seat and car door, the weight of Jongin’s body holding him in place and he kisses Mark desperately any place he can reach. The driver of their black car, Amaan, doesn’t so much as glance at them through the rearview. 

Mark cards his hands through the back of Jongin’s hair. He doesn’t give a fuck if it gets messy and tangled. All he wants to do is pull Jongin closer, hoist his legs around his waist and drive them together. He can’t do that in a car, though, with less than ten minutes until their destination, so he’ll settle for hair-pulling. 

Jongin is crying because of the ballet. Mark himself was caught off guard by the beauty of the dancers on stage, having never seen a show in person. The principal who played the Firebird had flitted around the stage with such whimsical grace that Mark was transfixed, and when the music swelled, he understood the magic of performance perfectly. 

He was so captivated by the dancing that he’d barely paid attention to Jongin’s reactions, but the few times he snuck a glance, Jongin was watching the stage with rapt attention, eating up every detail from the ballerina’s pointed feet to the tips of their fingers. 

And when the final note was played, and the dancers took their bows, Jongin was the first on his feet in the audience, clapping with such enthusiasm Mark would have thought he was making his own hands sore. Mark noticed the tears of his cheeks, making them shine with a glowing iridescent, but they didn’t speak a word as they left. He was sure Jongin had enjoyed it, but it might have also been too much. 

But when Mark went to get in his own car, he found himself being pulled into Jongin’s. 

Hence his current, er, _situation_. 

Jongin’s hands are shockingly cold against the bare skin of his stomach when the other slides his hands under Mark’s numerous layers. He presses down, running his fingers around the bottom of Mark’s ribs. It makes Mark feel absolutely _possessed,_ and even though Jongin’s hands are freezing, Mark’s skin is feverish with want. 

The makeout is wet and sloppy, but for him it ranks among their best. Jongin kisses him with a frenzied desperation, and he can’t even wait until their back in the safety of the apartment to get his hands on Mark. He licks into Mark’s mouth like he needs him to breathe. 

“Tonight was perfect,” he says, hush, between the sparse moments their mouths aren’t connected. Mark gropes his hands around Jongin’s face—the sensitive skin behind his ear and under that deadly sharp jaw, the plane of his cheekbones. 

Jongin looks stunning when he cries, not in the conventional sense, but because of the added vulnerability. So what if Mark gets a bit of snot of himself? It’s a small price to pay for the delectable sight before him. It’s such a beautiful thing, that Jongin is so moved by something Mark put into action. 

Things will go different tonight—Jongin won’t order him around, but their sex will be desperate and uncontrolled, and they’ll gone until one or both or them is totally spent.

Personally, Mark’s looking forward to it. 

“The night’s not over,” Mark says as he leans back in. 

“One of these days you’re going to kill me, Mark Lee. The things I’m about to do to you.” 

“That better be a promise,” Mark says. He’s game. He’s so, so game. 

They have to part too soon, too tragically soon. The car drops Jongin off first, and he lingers for too long against the warmth of Mark’s lips, then it pulls around the corner for Mark’s exit.

He decides to linger on the curb for an extra few minutes than he needs to, catching his breath. In the cold, his breath puffs up and floats away up into the clouded sky. Although Jongin’s not in view, he still watches the place he went, for no reason he understands. Fuck it, no, self-denial is so last year. Having to sneak around the paparazzi makes him sick to his stomach, and all Mark wants to do is race to Jongin’s side and kiss him and touch him so everyone knows that he’s _mine, mine, mine._

When he’s gotten control over himself, he tugs down his beanie and huddles down further into his coat to slip by the paparazzi as a nobody. 

-

All the way to Ten’s studio, Mark repeats every reason this is a good idea over and over again in his head with the hope that he won’t chicken out as soon as he sees Ten’s face. They’re in the closing days of January, three months since he met Jongin, and Mark knows for sure he’s in over his head. That’s been true for ages, and even Mark is getting sick of hearing himself say it. 

He’s known for a while, honestly, but ever since Jongin’s birthday he’s certain things have gone beyond what can be considered reasonable. He never once anticipated that being the dirty little secret would take such a toll on him, and it’s high time he get some advice from someone who understands better than his two equally nobody friends (no offense, Donghyuck and Yangyang, but 5,000 in followers doesn’t count). 

Mark would probably never be able to look Johnny in the eyes again, and that’s why he’s turning to Ten. 

Ten will hopefully help him, but Mark wasn’t able to admit it over text straight-up. Instead he made up some bullshit excuse about asking Ten’s help making the video for his multimedia class. _I need your art direction wisdom bro_ , he’d said. Ten bought it hook, line, and sinker. 

Right now, his plan is to just slide it into conversation, you know, naturally. Oh, by the way Ten, you know that show you gave me tickets to? You’ll never believe who I met there. Yup, Kai Kim, really. 

Obviously it’s not going to go down that way. Knowing himself, Mark will probably just blurt it out at the most awkward time, then maybe puke on Ten’s shoes while he’s at it. 

His plan is bungled from the beginning, from the moment he pounds in the key-code and bounds up three flights of stairs because of course there’s no elevator, _fuck_ New York, really. No wonder Ten’s assistants are bulky, they have to carry mannequins up and down these stairs all day. 

That’s not the problem. The _problem_ is that Ten’s not alone, like he said he was twenty minutes ago. There are two other people lounging around, neither of whom Mark knows. At least Johnny wasn’t there—count his blessings for that. 

His two companions are of course very beautiful, and now that Mark’s fucking a supermodel on a regular basis, he can recognize them both as such. It’s the jawlines and smolders being aimed at his direction. 

“Yooooo, ha ha. Ten, what’s up man?” Mark tries to casual in the face of his impending panic, but he thinks he just comes out sounding stoned as fuck instead. 

“Hi, younger off-shoot of my hunky man,” Ten replies breezily. He knows Mark hates it when he gets mushy about Johnny. Ten _will_ start waxing-poetic about Johnny’s dick if anyone gives him the chance. It’s repulsive. 

“You know? Maybe I should just leave,” and Mark honestly _does_ spin around and makes it all the way to the door before Ten is calling him back. He really would have walked out if he hadn’t—a missed opportunity to get out with his dignity in tact. 

“Busy schedules, as you get,” Ten waves his hands generally to the other two guys, who are watching them with equal amounts of curiosity and excitement. Mark doesn’t know if any strangers have ever been so happy to see him. “I had a vision last night and am changing some things in my show around, so I had to get my two top models in for a new fitting. You understand, don’t you?” 

Mark nods—there’s no other correct answer to this. He genuinely likes Ten, but sometimes he talks right over Mark’s head, like he’s one of his models that he can dress up how he pleases. 

“Hunky Jr. over there is Yukhei. Erm, are we using Lucas now? Are you sure you want to conform to the matrix of the white man, sweetie?” 

Hunky Jr.—fitting, his shoulders are really something—looks at Ten with eyes a little glazed-over, clearly only understanding about half of Ten’s sentence, waves his hand in their air as dismissal. “Lucas sounds like a really handsome guy’s name, doesn’t it?” 

“It sure does,” Mark says, still admiring Lucas’s very-hunky-indeed muscles. Lucas grins at him, looking somewhere between a toothpaste ad and a golden retriever. 

“Oh my god, I think I just witnessed the birth of a friendship. Hold me Yongie, I’m a mom now.” 

“Pregnancy bumps would be a good accessory,” _Yongie_ says. “Think of the implications of gender roles and the commentary on the gender binary in _mens_ wear and _womens_ wear.” Clearly he’s much more used to Ten than Lucas is. 

“Ugh, so right. Jot that down,” Ten says. “Mark, this is Taeyong, the boniest bitch to ever walk my runway. The first time I saw him I loved those eyebrows so much I made him be my best friend.” 

“I really am Ten’s best friend,” Yongie tells Mark softly, completely unphased by Ten’s dramatics, an intriguing contrast to how Johnny leans into them. “You’re Johnny’s brother, right? It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Yup, that’s me. Johnny’s brother.” _Johnny’s brother._ He’s never minded being Johnny’s brother, but it doesn’t do him any favors for these people to think of him as that, only that. _Johnny’s brother_ wouldn’t get wrapped up in an—affair?—with a supermodel without telling anyone. 

“Yongie, get your abs out won’t you? I need to adjust this corset.” 

“Are you also a model?” Lucas asks when Mark sits down on the couch beside him. Fortunately, by now Mark is used to being around beautiful people (or at least, one beautiful person) for him to not feel totally overwhelmed and flustered when talking to someone with their perfect pecs out. He does choke at the question, though. 

“No, what? Me? No, no, I’m just a friend of Ten’s, I guess. Me on a runway, ha, that’d be crazy.”

Lucas just furrows his brow at him. “You’re a little short but you’d look good on stage. Trust me, I’m a great judge of character.” 

Mark’s pretty sure his character is far away from his physical appearance, but he’s also pretty sure Lucas is trying to compliment him. “Thanks.” 

“If you’re not a model, then you’re... a student?” 

“Yeah.” This is good—safe, chartered territory. “I’m at NYU, my third year.”

Lucas brightens suddenly. “Oh! That must make you what, twenty?” Mark nods. “Me too man! So great!” He leans forward into Mark’s personal space and wraps one of his huge hands around Mark’s shoulder. He thinks this means Lucas has just anointed him as a new friend.

The next thing Mark knows, he’s being enveloped into a full side-hug, his face pressed awkwardly close to Lucas’ armpit. The other boy doesn’t seem to notice, or care, about weird social situations however, because he ignores it completely in favor of getting Mark into frame for a selfie. 

“We need to document this moment,” he says. He asks for Mark’s Instagram to tag him, which he reluctantly gives even though it’s mostly just photos of New York and his friends and not photos of him. But apparently Lucas thinks he’s hot enough to be a model, so maybe he should start. 

Once their friendship has been officially sealed by social media, they chat about other things while Ten and Taeyong work. Mark learns that Lucas is from Hong Kong, and that he went to an international school where he learned some English, and he got scouted by Comme de Garcon when he was seventeen and trying to buy Nintendo games at the mall. He’s been full-time ever since, but only came to New York a few months ago because he heard House of Ten wanted him. 

“Ten’s so cool man. New York too. It’s just like—gaaaah!” Lucas throws his hands up in an exploding gesture that Mark somehow understands perfectly. New York _is_ just like gah, with its massive skyscrapers and constant speed. Gah is as overwhelming as it is wonderful. 

“Aw Yongie, look at our babies, they’re getting along so well,” Ten says coming up to them. A sketch pad is tucked against his hip. “Sorry about that again Mark, I’m ready to talk about the video. Lucas, you should go get some lunch. We’re talking about bulking here, not weight loss.” 

Across the room, Taeyong flops down in a beanbag, not looking like he’s getting ready to go anywhere anytime soon. Mark’s brain stalls. There’s no way he can have the talk he wants to have with Ten with someone else in the room, even if they are really nice. 

So yeah—Mark ends up chickening out. 

“You know? It can wait. It’s a long semester. Anyone else hungry? I know this sick Ethopian place a couple blocks away.” 

They do indeed get Ethiopian food, and everyone sings its praises. Mark sends a couple photos of the food to Jongin to make him jealous (ok, ok, Mark didn’t just _know_ about this place. It’s one of Jongin’s favorite takeout spots). 

It’s a fun meal group. Up to this point, Mark has barely interacted with Ten outside of with Johnny and doesn’t know him well as an individual not part of a package deal. But after you get past his outwards eccentricity and flair for drama, he’s great to be around. He laughs easily and when he teases it’s clearly a sign of affection. 

Taeyong is quiet—as Mark pegged him earlier, he’s nearly Ten’s opposite. He’s easy going though, which is probably why they get along so well. And when someone is talking, he has a way of staring at them that makes them feel like they’re the only person in the room. That amount of attention is kind of nice. Mark feels like he’s really being _listened_ to around Taeyong. 

Lucas proves by the minute he might be the happiest person Mark has ever met. Like Ten, he laughs at everything and makes the rest of them laugh just as well. Ten describes him as an overgrown puppy at Mark agrees completely. 

On their way back to Ten’s studio, they stop by the makeshift stands on the side of the road. Mark tries on a bunch of different rings at Lucas’ bequest and doesn’t even complain about the potential for lead poisoning. Then Lucas insists on buying them matching friendship bracelets, woven fibers of black and red, and takes a pic of that, too. 

Being Lucas’ friend, so far, is proving to be a great time. The crushing feeling of anxiety from earlier is almost completely gone, and despite the fact Mark’s done nothing to actually solve the issue, he’s somehow feeling a lot better about it. 

Naturally, Jongin is waiting for them outside Ten’s studio, leaning casually against the wall in his leather jacket, like he hangs outside random buildings in New York all the time. 

“Oh Kai, what a nice surprise,” Ten greets, obviously friendly. Mark had no idea they knew each other on terms even _bordering_ friendly. Lucas goes for the full-on bro hug, which Jongin reciprocates with practiced ease. 

“I saw on Lucas’ story you guys were having fun without me,” Jongin pouts. His eyes slide over Mark, just for a moment, but it’s also one of the most heated looks Mark’s ever been on the receiving end of. 

Foolishly, hope blooms in his chest. 

“Will you show me your collection Ten? I wish I hadn’t taken that Off White offer so I could walk for you instead.”

“You’re too sweet Jongin,” Ten laughs. “I know Virgil asked you personally to walk for him. How were you going to turn that down? But it’s not everyday I get _the_ Kim Kai lingering outside my studio though, so of course I’ll show you. I know you can keep a secret. By the way, you looked incredible at Gucci in Milan. _Patterns,_ amazing.”

As he leads their little group up the stairs, Mark lingers in the back of the pack, unsure of what to do with his body. He doesn’t know how to act in this situation, in front of people who know them but don’t know _them,_ and completely clueless to how much information he can divulge. He watches Jongin’s back avidly, and thus doesn’t miss how the other keeps sliding glances back at him. 

When they get to the top of the stairs, Jongin suddenly announces he needs to use the bathroom. “There’s a keycode you need,” Mark blurts out. Jongin faces him with a loose smile, small and pleased. “I’ll show you.” 

None of the others pay them any mind, which is good, because as soon as they get around the corner, Mark is pulling Jongin down for a bruising kiss. Jongin both laughs and moans into it, which means he knows exactly what he’s doing and the effect it has on Mark. 

Jongin swipes at his bottom lip at the same moment he slides a hand under the back of Mark’s shirt. Mark allows him open access everywhere on his body, even though someone could see them at any moment. The lewd slide of Jongin’s tongue against his own, the feeling of Jongin exploring his mouth and running that talented tongue against Mark’s teeth is just too good. 

Mark could kiss Jongin for hours. His favorite chapstick tastes like coconut, but anything Jongin puts on is his favorite flavor. 

“What are you doing here?” Mark pulls away for long enough to ask. Oh—his fingers are intertwined behind Jongin’s neck, how did that happen? Jongin’s mouth chases his for a chaste peck before he answers. 

“I told you,” Jongin says, breathing along the line of Mark’s jaw. “I saw on Lucas’ story you were all having fun.” He places one, two teasing kisses to the delicate skin there. But he doesn’t follow through, of course not, because two fresh hickies would be impossible to explain away. Ah, that’s right, they’re doing this in the hallway. 

“One sex—sec.” Wow, did he actually just have a verbal typo? Fuck him, really. Mark _does_ successfully punch in the bathroom code on his first try though, which is a little win for him. 

Jongin resumes his earlier work of kissing Mark senseless as soon as they’re in and the door is closed. His hands get more adventurous, skimming along the patch of skin just below Mark’s belt, until he finds the elastic of his briefs and works his fingers under that, too. 

“Do we—do we have time for this?” Mark pants. Every nerve in his body is telling him to give Jongin a little nip on his perfect bottom lip, now shiny and glistening so tempting with saliva, but a bruise there would be another impossible-to-explain thing. 

“Depends, how horny are you?” 

Instead of answering on his own behalf, Mark gets bold and uses one hand to grope Jongin’s cock in his pants, finding him predictably fully hard. He’s known from the beginning in another, much fancier bathroom, that Jongin has a bit of a public sex kink 

Mark drops to his knees. He doesn’t think about how dirty the floor is, just the musky scent of Jongin’s crotch inches from his face, and the sheen of Mark’s spit illuminating Jongin’s chin. The model looks sloppy and desperate at yeah, Mark did that. And now he’s going to get him off. 

“I promise not to waste a drop,” he says before pulling Jongin out fully. 

Mark pushes himself beyond what he thinks he can handle and pretends it’s for the sake of time. But in reality, he loves this feeling of being used, of Jongin just taking advantage of his warm holes. It gets him all shivery. 

He swallows Jongin’s cock until he’s nearly choking and pulls off just to do it again and again, getting Jongin’s cock just as wet and sloppy as his mouth was. Jongin’s hands pull hard against the short hairs and the base of Mark’s neck, but that just adds to it. He slides one leg closer for Mark, a shameless invitation to let Mark hump against his shin, which Mark gladly accepts. 

“Baby, baby,” Jongin whines, jerking forward with tiny thrusts that don’t inhibit Mark. They’re working on Mark’s gag reflex, and he just knows he’s going to relish the day he makes it all the way down to the thick curl of hair at the base of Jongin’s cock, where Mark can breathe him in fully, everywhere. Until then, though, he settles for wrapping his fist around where his mouth can’t reach, slide going easy because of where Mark’s been drooling all over it. 

It’s good. It’s perfect. Mark’s so hard, just from this and all the soft noises Jongin makes above him. “You look so good down there,” Jongin tells him. Feeling nothing but warm and encouraged, Mark pulls off quickly to spit in his other hand and use it to fondle Jongin’s balls. “Oh, oh fuck. Perfect baby, just like that. Love how you swallow my cock like such a good boy.” 

Mark sets a rapid pace. He tries to put in as much suction as he can and closes his fist around Jongin’s cock nice and tight in a way he knows will pull Jongin’s orgasm right out of him. 

“Ah—a, please Mark, ah—” Jongin’s moans turn to little cries right before he comes, and he thrusts forward just a little too much and suddenly Mark’s choking, but then Jongin’s also holding him by the head and coming down his throat, and holy shit his eyes actually roll into the back of his head as Mark comes in his pants. 

Jongin gently pulls him off. For the moment, Mark’s too boneless to move. He rests his head against the top of Jongin’s thigh and for a while all he can do there is focus on breathing. Beneath his head, he can feel Jongin heaving, too. Soft hands pet gently at his hair. It feels really nice, and Mark says as much.

“Oh fuck, it’s gonna be weird,” Mark groans. They’ve definitely been gone for way too long. 

“Shhhh,” Jongin hushes, still continuously petting Mark. “Was that ok? I know I got a little rough at the end, I’m sorry—” 

Mark tilts his head up. He becomes very aware of the position he’s in, one so passive and submissive tucked between Jongin’s legs. “It was more than ok, Jongin. Really, really more.” 

And Jongin has the audacity to _blush._

“You’d tell me when to stop though, right?” Jongin’s eyes are wide and concerned. “You know what, the next time you come over, we’ll negotiate everything properly instead of feeling it out ad hoc. That’ll be good.” 

“Sounds lovely.” Mark mumbles. He’s getting a little tired. He could probably doze off slumped over against Jongin like this. 

“I’m sorry baby, you gotta get up so I can clean you off.” 

Jongin does just that, leaning Mark halfway against the sink and halfway against himself to wipe down the front of Mark’s jeans while he snoozes in and out of wakefulness. 

“Let’s go get coffee,” he slurs. 

“Ten has an espresso machine, I’ll make you a cup.” 

“No,” Mark says. Jongin trains more of his attention on him. “Let’s go get coffee and tell the others that’s where we went. It’ll be our excuse for why we were gone so long.” 

For a moment, Jongin’s expression is unreadable. “My smart baby,” he eventually says, and kisses Mark on the crown of his head. 

When they get back, if anyone notices something off, they don’t say a word. 

-

**February**

Love sucks. 

The only thing worse than love is a holiday specific designed around it as a bullshit capitalist ploy to sell things to couples. And they made it occur during the coldest month of the year. What kind of sick bastard made Valentine’s Day, anyways? It’s still a week away, but Mark already knows he’s going to hate it. 

On the 14th, all of the happy couples will be getting mushy and in their feelings, but Mark won’t be able to enjoy it because first, he and Jongin are not a real couple, and two, Valentine’s Day is also crammed in the middle of fashion weeks, half of which Jongin isn’t walking in himself but still has every day of outfits planned. 

No, Mark’s not bitter at all, why do you ask? 

Not only is Jongin running from fitting to fitting with whose names Mark struggles to memorize, but there’s also press to do, places to go just so Jongin can be seen and photographed. The entire lead up is a crazy choreographed scene all its own. Mark watches it all from his dorm room livestream with only a scattered text from Jongin every few hours to keep him company. 

Yangyang proves himself as the best friend he is by doing his damndest to keep Mark’s mind off things (Mark caved at told Yangyang about Jongin during a hungover diner breakfast—he didn’t seem remotely surprised) by constantly inviting him to meals, study sessions, and random events he finds on Facebook. He convinces Mark to start spending more time with Chris, too, the Australian Mark more-or-less thrust himself on at the party last month. He goes through great lengths to make sure Mark knows he doesn’t hold his sloppiness against him. They’re in the same year as it turns out, though Chris is a bit old because of a gap year. 

(“I went to Lesotho, South Africa, Bali, Patagnoia—it was _amazing_.”) 

And Chris’ music bangs too. Their styles are pretty similar, and already they’ve sketched out plans to make some tracks together. He’s a total workaholic, just like Mark, so they get into a routine of locking themselves up in one of the production rooms until late night becomes early morning. 

“You two are freaks,” Yangyang complains on one of the rare occasions they find themselves in the library past midnight instead of making music. Mark’s let himself fall behind on his psych readings already. His professor is such a nice lady, too; it makes him feel like shit to disappoint her. “University is about having fun! Not torturing yourself with work.” 

Chris and Mark shrug at each other. “We are having fun,” is all Mark says. Chris nods along with him.

“You know what’s also fun? Drinking! Dancing! Fucking! When loverboy comes back—” Yangyang cuts off when Mark aims a particularly hard kick at his shin and pairs it with a stoney glare. “Ow, fuck.” 

Chris is looking at them curiously. “Loverboy?” 

Shit—there’s the blush Mark feels creeping up his neck. He tries to hide it with his hand and probably fails. “Nothing, Yangyang’s being dramatic. He’s—” and doesn’t it pain Mark to say this? “Just a hookup.” 

“Feel ya there,” Chris says sympathetically, and drops it to go back to his laptop. That’s something Mark really likes about him—unlike Yangyang, he knows how to read the room. 

Buzzing erupts in his pocket—Jongin, speak of the devil. 

_Thought about saturday yet?_

Jongin wants to get Mark to come to one of his runway shows, although they can’t actually be seen there _together_. He sprung the question on Mark during a late-night FaceTime, when Mark had to creep out in the hallway with his voice low because Yangyang was sleeping. He’s taking this as a net positive, as if it will warm Jongin up to the idea of them being seen in the same room together, and Mark will chip away at him bit by bit. 

There’s one massive problem though, and that’s the potential to run into his brother and Ten. 

Mark as the beginnings of an idea though, one brought on by some oppertune Instagram DMs. Ever since they met last month, Mark and Lucas have been maintaining a lengthy conversation over DMs. Lucas doesn’t seem to have any friends his own age and has begun to attach himself to Mark. Not that he minds—Lucas is a genuine breath of fresh air. 

Lucas also happens to be walking in the same show Jongin wants him to come to.

Even better, both Ten and Johnny are aware they know each other (Johnny replied with the :eyes: emoji when Mark reposted the photo of them in Ten’s studio together). 

It’s the perfect excuse-in-the-making. 

_Got some ideas fr it,_ Mark texts back, fingers skirting rapidly across the screen. The less time he spends with his phone in his hand, the less nosey his friends will be. _Think ive got a way to make it work._

_:DDDD_

Mark smiles to himself. Who texts like that anymore? Jongin sometimes acts like a seventy year-old man and it’s adorable. If Jongin’s happy, Mark’s happy.

Yangyang flicks a rolled-up piece of paper at him, but he misses wide and ends up hitting the person behind Mark in the back of the head. She glares at Mark like he did it. 

“Thanks for nothing,” he mutters as Chris and Yangyang snicker.

That weekend, all his homework more-or-less squared away, Mark finds himself standing in front of the Target mirror fastened to his door with Command Strips. He (along with Yangyang’s assistance) are trying to put together a suitably fashionable outfit. So far, they’ve spent five minutes arguing about whether it’s ok for him to wear Supreme to a high-fashion show. 

Verdict: probably not. 

In the end they settle on Mark’s most expensive-looking pair of studded pants and an oversized Gucci sweater that shows off his collarbones and actually belongs to Jongin—hence the oversized fit. It’s either that or a matching velvet tracksuit. 

“I call this look _rich international student with a G Wagon,”_ Yangyang declares. “It’s very elevated college boyfriend chic. You won’t look out of place, but you won’t stand out, either.” 

“Good.” He fiddles with the collar some. He should really start working out his upper-body more “That’s exactly the look we’re going for here.” 

“All this effort just stand in the back,” Yangyang sighs. “It’s not like you’ll ever be able to see him standing behind everyone.” 

“Oh, uh, I think I have seats? Second row?” 

Yangyang’s eyes shoot up his forehead. He whistles. “Ok loverboy, go off. When am I going to get a piece of this sweet cake, again?” 

“You benefit enough already, don’t pretend you don’t.” 

“I’m just saying, it’s a shame this ticket is wasted on you and wasn’t given to someone who can appreciate it, like me.” 

“You’re so dramatic and for what. Just because you’re European doesn’t mean you’re like, _automatically_ fashionable.” 

“Yeah it does.” Yangyang throws himself onto his bed with a dramatic yawn. “It’s part of my EU residency. Good fashion sense is part of the currency exchange.”

 _Dunno if youll get this, but On my way!_ Mark texts with one hand. _Shut. omw._

“Have fun sweetheart!” Yangyang calls behind him. 

_Yay!! Make sure to get all the free things. Ask for Mercy when you get there. See you soon!! I won’t_ see _you maybe but you being there will give me strength._

 _Fighting oppa~_ Mark teases. He delights in knowing that a few blocks away, Jongin is probably blushing in the hair and makeup chair backstage. 

Mark’s never been to a fashion show, of course he hasn’t, but he finds it not drastically different from the gallery he first met Jongin in that he feels totally out of place. There are people around him wearing the most ridiculous outfits he’s ever seen and somehow make it work, and tall, pale people that look like aliens, and a million flashing and clicking cameras like some kind of insect swarm. People are probably taking his photo right now at all his wrong angles and he doesn’t even know it. 

Feeling extremely self-conscious, Mark tries to school his expression into something resembling the blank stare Jongin uses on the runway. 

Good thing he has Mercy, a young woman probably not much older than Mark who has some kind of beautiful, metallic fiber woven into her dreads that catches the light when she moves. She leads him through the crowds of people who know people and people who pretend to know people to his seat, which has _Mark Lee_ written across it in sharpie. She hands him a little piece of paper with a barcode on it but doesn’t explain what it means, along with a small bag of almonds. 

“Show’s set to begin in five, but we got word that Anna Wintour’s car is still in traffic, so expect fifteen,” Mercy says as a parting word. 

Shit. He tried to time it perfectly so that there would be no mingling time (and Jongin impressed that he had to be _punctual)_ , but now with the delay, he can already see people scoping him out as he looks around. 

_“Hey, who’s that cute guy in the second row?”_

_“Parsons student with an internship?”_

_“A model, maybe?”_

_“With that skin?”_

_“Right, right.”_

_“I think I’ve seen him on Tik Tok.”_

_“An influencer? God, they’ll give anyone a second-row seat these days.”_

“Mark?” 

Said boy whips his head up to meet the eyes of non-other than his older brother. Johnny has no less than three cameras and lenses looped around his neck. Ten is right behind him, hanging on his arm. 

“Ohhhhh _hey_ guys.” He tries to act casual, but that nervous laugh of his is such a tell. Fortunately, it doesn’t look like Johnny notices over the white noise of all the background chatter. “What are you doing here? Wait, your jobs, obviously, ha ha.” 

“Yeah...” Johnny raises an eyebrow. “More like what are _you_ doing here?” 

“You own a Gucci sweater?” Ten raises an eyebrow identical to Johnny’s. 

“Oh, it’s my roommates! He’s like, really rich. And uh—smokes a lot of cigarettes? Not that that matters. But Lucas invited me! We’re kind of like, friends now.” 

Ten’s expression brightens. “I knew you two would be good together! Look at me John, bringing happiness into your baby brother’s life.” 

God, if only Ten knew the half of it.

Johnny’s fingers absentmindedly play with the many rings on his boyfriend’s fingers. His smile is genuine when he says, “That’s so cool bro! To tell you the truth, I really worried about you making friends. Can’t have just Donghyuck forever, right?” 

“I’m telling him you said that. Let me text him right now, actually.” 

“Waaaaait, it was a joke! He’s great, I love that kid.” 

“Oh my god, I’m already getting replaced with a younger model,” Ten bemoans. 

“Hush baby,” Johnny says as he tries to snatch Mark’s phone from his hand. Luckily the entire situation is diffused when word travels to them that Anna Wintour has finally arrived, and Johnny and Ten need to go find their seats. When they’re gone, Mark lets out an audible sigh of relief. 

The girl beside him leans over cautiously. “You know house of Ten?” she whispers. 

“Yeah,” Mark says, for once sure of himself. “We’re cool.” 

Fortunately for Mark, the show isn’t one of the ridiculously high-concept ones, like the 3D-printed pieces Jongin raves about. They resemble normal clothes, not parade floats, with an emphasis on patterns and nature. He can admit to himself that he’s actually having a pretty good time—the music is interesting and the models are obviously all very pretty. Lucas is the first model to come out, and Mark’s astonished by the change from the bubbly person he met in Ten’s studio. 

But really, Mark has eyes for just one person. 

Jongin walks in what will later be crowned as the two best looks from the show, wild mixtures of patterns and hand-done embroidery that evokes the veins of leaves. Mark’s seen photos of Kai Kim, of course, but it’s an entirely different experience watching the man at work. If Mark hasn’t seen him in bed before, he would say that he looks his very best on the runway. 

And it doesn’t hurt that with each pass, he looks directly to Mark’s seat and breaks his sexy model character for a split second with a bright smile that belongs to Jongin, not Kai, so quick if you blink you’ll miss it. Photos of this moment will later also be shared around the internet like wildfire, everyone developing their own theory on what made Kai Kim smile like that. 

(The top contender is that Tom Holland is sitting right in front of Mark, and that Kai is a huge Marvel fan. Mark’s insides feel fuzzy because _he_ knows the truth.) 

Johnny sends him a text when the show is done. _Afterparty?_

Most of him wants to go home and curl up in bed to leave Jongin a string of long, embarrassingly sappy voice messages, but he knows the other will be too busy to look at them. 

_Sure. meet where?_

The after party is truthfully not much different than most college parties he’s been to. Every New York party has a certain kind of atmosphere to it. Lucas is also there, and he throws his arms around Mark in such a dramatic and enthusiastic fashion that Johnny and Ten don’t doubt his cover story for a second. 

Jongin is there, too, standing by the designer and important magazine people. Playing the good supermodel. But his presence is comforting, too; when Mark feels eyes on him, he knows exactly who’s watching. 

-

“Ok. 3, 2, 1.” 

Jongin removes his hands from where they’ve been hiding Mark’s eyes, falling instead to his waist. Behind Mark, Jongin wraps himself around him like a cuddly teddy bear. 

Before coming over, Mark had only been given one instruction, and that was to wear something _nice._ Naturally, all the things he owns that fall into that category were given to him by Jongin himself, so Mark was actually able to pull together dark slacks and a tight, black cashmere sweater with some of Jongin’s favorite jewelry to top it off. 

They haven’t seen each other since they locked eyes during Jongin’s runway show, and have barely texted in between the gaps in Jongin’s hectic schedule. Mark woke up to a voice memo this morning, Jongin’s voice hoarse with sleep, asking if he would please come over at 8pm, exactly? 

In a few hours, it will be Valentine’s Day proper. 

Jongin is leaving for Europe tomorrow. 

Now, though, before all that happens, Mark is standing in front of one of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows in Jongin’s apartment. A little table is set up, complete with candles, flowers, and the most impressive meal Mark’s ever seen in person. 

Jongin kisses his neck over Mark’s sweater. “Happy Valentine’s Day baby,” he says sweetly. 

Though Mark’s been gaping at the sight for a few minutes, he manages to school his expression. He turns in Jongin’s arms—pleased when the other doesn’t let him go—to return the hug. This gesture is better than any watch, Cartier ring, and all the chocolate in the world. 

“Because we can’t go out to eat, I thought I would bring the 5-star dinner here.” 

“I love it.” Mark reaches up for a kiss that doesn’t last long enough. 

“Come on, before it gets cold. And I even got this amazing sparkling wine I had in Cannes. Try it, I know you’ll love it.” 

The wine is amazing, the food is amazing, the view is amazing. Mark’s talking about both the view of the city and the view across the table. Even without trying, Jongin looks beautiful, dressed in a similar semi-formal outfit to Mark’s, but his paired with a cozy cardigan. 

However good he looks, though, he can’t entirely hide his exhaustion. Mark carries most of the conversation during the meal, and they often fall into lulls of comfortable silence. He tells Jongin about his classes, and they make a list of movies they want to watch together when Jongin’s not so busy. Mark also promises to make him a special _Europe_ playlist in the morning.

Jongin’s put on some ballet soundtrack in the background, and they both sway unconsciously to it. Beneath the table, Jongin strokes his sock-clad foot up the outside of Mark’s shin to the ebb and flow of the violins. 

More than once, Mark catches Jongin staring at him. He laughs shyly into his steak, which only makes Jongin smile wider, because he’s always telling Mark how cute he is when he gets embarrassed. 

“Did you like the show?” There’s a glint in Jongin’s eye, searching out approval. 

“It was really cool. The lights were awesome.”

“Mark,” Jongin laughs. “You’re supposed to complement the _clothes._ The designer has such a beautiful eye for fabric and patterns, I really see him as a painter. And he makes everything in a sustainable way. His way of working is just so beautiful.” 

“Yeah, uh, the clothes were interesting too.” Something that Mark loves about Jongin is that he’s not just a model because he’s _pretty_ , but that he cares about fashion and the art of it all. He’s confessed to Mark that he’s thought about designing his own pieces, something that mixes Korea and the west. “You looked really good—the silver suits you, I think.” 

Jongin reaches up to twirl a piece of said silver locks in his fingers. “You do? I’m happy then. At first I wasn’t sure about it, but I trust your judgement.” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t trust it more than a professional’s.” 

“Maybe. But I don’t care about the stylist’s opinion when she’s not sitting across dinner from me. You see me the most of anyone at this point.” 

“Millions of people _see_ you.” 

“They see Kai Kim,” Jongin pouts. He slides his hand across the tablecloth to Mark’s side, who takes it in his own and automatically intertwines their fingers. “You see me, so it’s a lot more important.” 

“I—um, ok wow. I didn’t know you had such a high opinion of me.” 

Jongin’s hand squeezes tighter. His stare is intense, almost too much for Mark to maintain, but he does. “Of course I do. My opinion on you is very, very favorable.” 

“Well I mean, you looked incredible on the runway. You look so good when you’re doing what you do best.” 

“Is modeling what I’m best at?” Jongin’s voice takes on a suggestive lilt. “Or is my finest skill something else? This is a question only you know the answer to, baby.” 

Mark nearly chokes on his steak. The night is heading in a specific direction, but he still blushes at the obvious euphemism. 

“I think you’re multi-talented,” he manages as a response. 

“In all seriousness, I’m glad you were there.” 

“Me too.” 

“You looked like you had fun at the after party, too. I’m glad you and Lucas are friends now. He’s a lot of fun. I think of him as my little brother sometimes. And that was your brother, wasn’t it? With Ten?”

“Yeah,” Mark smiles softly at the memory. “It’s great being able to hang out with Johnny. I missed him like crazy during high school in Korea. Our parents—well, they worked all the time when he lived in Queens, so Johnny took care of me a lot and never complained. He’s great, you two would really get on.” Internally, Mark winces. He just stuck a toe over the line by suggestion Jongin should one day meet his family. Quickly, he changes topics. “My favorite part was knowing you were watching me, though.” 

“Oh yeah?” Jongin sends him a heated look. “You looked so good in my sweater with your shoulders out, how would I be able to keep my eyes off you?” 

“I wore it for you,” Mark diverts his gaze, all part of the game. 

“I think my baby was teasing me.” 

They leave the rest of dinner for later. Their most pressing objective becomes each other’s bodies. By now, it’s almost second nature for Mark to find his way to the bedroom while Jongin kisses him, the amount of steps until his knees hit the bed becoming muscle memory. 

Jongin kisses like he’s forgotten what the inside of Mark’s mouth is like and is desperate to acquaint himself. Those pillow lips taste sweet like the sparkling wine, and Mark flicks at them with his tongue. They’re kitten licks compared to what Jongin is doing. 

“Baby, your lips look so pretty covered in my spit. Open for me.” Mark does so, tongue pushing out below his bottom lip. Carefully, Jongin takes it between his lips and _sucks._ It makes the filthiest slurping sound, but Mark feels so good and so powerless under Jongin like this. It’s been a while since they’ve fucked like this, and every one of Mark’s nerves are screaming for Jongin to control him. His head is swimming with his feelings after the romantic showing, and he’s ready to not think anymore.

“I love when you wear what I bought you, but right now, this sweater needs to come off.” It does, the offending material. Jongin sucks wet bruises in Mark’s pale skin, all down his neck, his shoulder, his chest. It must annoy him to see his previous ones fading. 

“What do you want tonight?” Jongin asks. The answer is easy to say. 

“Use me. Use me to blow off your stress.” 

Jongin leans down to bite harshly at Mark’s earlobe, as-yet untouched and sensitive enough for Mark to cry out at the contact. “If I didn’t have everyone looking at the way I walk tomorrow, I’d have you fuck me,” he says against the shell. Mark’s brain short-circuits at just the thought. “Use your dick as a dildo until I come all over you. Would you like that, being my little plaything?” 

Mark groans.

“I asked you a question.” Despite the bite of his words, Jongin’s hand is quite gentle when he grasps Mark’s cheek. “So you need to answer.” 

“Yeah, I want that. Being—being just your toy.” 

“Mmmmh, you’d be so good at it. Letting me get off on you, spilling yourself in my ass until I’m warm with your cum.” The praise hits Mark’s chest full on, and it almost feels like getting the wind knocked out of him. His heart hammers away against his ribcage. 

Jongin strips him from his clothes, taking apart Mark’s nice outfit without a second thought. Mark blushes scarlet while he does so, aware of the secret hiding underneath. Jongin’s reaction doesn’t disappoint—he swears softly when he unzips Mark’s pants and finds the black lace there greeting him. A crooked smile graces his lips when he looks back up at Mark’s face. 

“Baby, for me?” 

He’s trembling, but Mark nods. “It’s what people do for Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?” 

Jongin places a kiss at the top of the lace. They’re not true panties from the women’s section, but sheer, black briefs that just barely cover the swell of Mark’s ass. He’d been too embarrassed to buy them in person and instead ordered them online after a night of drinking with Chris and Yangyang, when Mark was writhing and horny in his bed even after jerking off. 

Mark’s entire body shivers at the contact, and Jongin’s pleased by the reaction, because he does it again and again until his chin is just centimeters from his dick. If he were to touch that place, Jongin would find Mark so wet and wanting already. 

“Look at my cute slut,” Jongin coos. “So pretty and horny for me. All for me. Aren’t I so lucky? Turn over for me so I can see your ass.” 

On his knees, Mark feels even more vulnerable than before. “Jongin, stop teasing me.” 

“Hmm?” Jongin grips a handful of his ass. Releases it to watch it jiggle. “Does my baby give me orders now?” Mark shakes his head. “That’s right. Now, beg if you want me to fuck you.” 

“Please,” he cries out immediately. His cock is straining against the lace and, god, his hole is quivering, so close to getting fucked after a week with nothing but his fingers. No way he’s above begging. He babbles, “please fuck me Jongin, I need it, I need your cock. Fill me up, please, please.” 

Behind him, Jongin hums in appreciation. Mark can’t see, but he fills the shift of the bed when Jongin moves to get lube. So close now, so close. 

“Not only do you look like a slut, you sound like one, too. I should record you begging like that for me and play it in my headphones when I’m at shoots. Or maybe I would play it for everyone, so that they all know what a perfect slut I have in my apartment.” 

The lace is pulled down with a tug, just enough to reveal Mark’s hole. It restricts the motion of his legs, just enough for Mark to feel the delicious shiver of restraint. From the sound Jongin makes, Mark knows he’s seen the final surprise. 

“Fuck, you prepped for me? Did you stretch yourself out with your fingers in the shower, your roommate just meters away? _Fuck,_ I’m getting you a plug. Something pretty for my princess.” 

One finger goes in easily, although Jongin’s fingers are so much bigger and longer than Mark’s, so he adds a second right after. Mark keens and arches his back further, trying to wiggle subtly so Jongin’s fingers will knock into his prostate. Jongin can see through him so easily, though, and a hand grips his hip tightly to make him stop. 

“You’re impatient tonight baby,” Jongin says, breath sounding noticeably more heavy than before. His fingers increase their pace, still dodging Mark’s prostate, and his mouth gets close to Mark’s back, sending out a wave of goosebumps. “You must have liked the show I put on you for. I put so much work into it, too. I like to treat my whore good, you see, and now you’re going to reward my efforts. Don’t you want to be good, baby?” 

“Yes, yes,” Mark pants. 

“Good, now put these panties in your mouth.” Jongin strips him of the underwear, finally freeing Mark’s cock from the tickle of the lace. They’re wet and salty in his mouth. That’s his own precome he’s tasting, and it only makes more spurt from his dick. “Hold your ass open for me baby. Let me see you.” 

There’s only one way to do that, and it’s to put his face down into the pillows, all of his weight on his shoulders, completely vulnerable for Jongin to do whatever he wants with him. And he does it without a second thought, because his mind is warm and muddled, and his body feverish with want. 

For a second, Mark thinks Jongin may put his tongue in him and tease him more just to be cruel, but then he feels the familiar push and stretch of the head of Jongin’s dick against him. He can feel the warmth of his precome, too. 

With both of his hands, Jongin pulls Mark back onto his cock as Mark moans loudly into the fabric. They’re brand new and will probably be ruined after this, but he’s certain Jongin will be buying him more in the future. Along with that plug—Mark can hardly wait. 

The only break of character from the harsh role Jongin is playing is how he waits for a few seconds for Mark to adjust. Then he’s snapping forward, again, and again, and again, and Mark can feel him everywhere from his toes to in his fucking stomach. Even though he’s plenty stretched, Jongin’s dick is big and still burns in all the right ways.

Tears form at the corner of Mark’s eyes and all he can do is grit his teeth and drool around the panties. Them, and the pillow beneath him, is going to be soaked by the end of this. 

Just when Mark thinks this is as fast and hard as Jongin’s going to go, the other lifts a leg up, placed his foot on the bed, and pushes Mark’s back into an even more ridiculous arch. His shoulders hurt but he wants to be good, god he wants to be good, and isn’t it incredible how Jongin holds Mark up by his hips like a doll to be fucked? The new angle only lets Jongin thrust in harder and faster, until he’s well and truly jackrabbiting into Mark’s hole. 

It’s just what Mark wanted, the exact thought he got off to when he was stretching himself out hours before. 

When Jongin teases another finger around Mark’s swollen rim, his entire body jumps, from shock and pleasure. “Yeah, like that? You could take more than just my cock, I bet. A good whore could do it. Mmmh, we could stretch you out for hours until even my cock isn’t enough and you’re begging for more. You’d be so loose and open even after I cum in it. Your hole is so greedy baby.” 

Mark feels him pass over the point of coherency. All he can do is moan into his own panties like the dumb whore he is while his cock leaks onto the sheets. His hands finally fall away and grip the fabric instead, and that and the pressure of Jongin’s cock inside him is all that keeping him tethered to reality. Hands out of the way, Jongin slaps Mark’s ass until it stings. 

“Fuuuh, hnnnnng,” he whines and moans, wanton and dirty, for Jongin to fuck him more, even if he can’t fully form the words. It’s just on the border of too much. 

“God you feel so good.” Jongin isn’t nearly as wrecked as Mark, but he sounds well on his way. “Your perfect hole, your perfect body, your perfect voice. All of it mine.”

And through it all, Jongin keeps fucking him in just the way Mark wants; as much as Jongin says Mark is perfect for him, their chemistry is a two-way street, and everything about Jongin is perfect for Mark, too. 

A particularly well-placed roll of Jongin’s hips are the final breaking-point for Mark’s knees. He collapses down onto the sheets with a cry, and Jongin’s weight follows him. For a moment they just rest there, breathing, but Mark can still feel the pulsing of Jongin’s cock inside him. A constant, delicious reminder. 

Smoothed against his back, Jongin presses a kiss to the base of Mark’s neck. 

“Shhhh, it’s ok. Can I just be nice now? I want to be sweet to you on Valentine’s Day.” 

It’s a strange question to have posed to you while warming someone’s cock, but if anything, Mark can roll with the punches. And he wants it, too. As good as it was to get fucked hard and fast until his thoughts and body failed him, there’s been a voice in his head begging to turn around and kiss Jongin. Now that it’s been suggested, he wants sweet more than anything. 

“Yyyyng,” he says through the fabric.

Jongin takes the panties from his mouth and throws them to the side, but not before taking a long smell of them. Then he ducks in to kiss Mark’s cheek. When his hips start moving again, it’s in slow, sinful rolls that reach so, so deep inside. He barely moves away from Mark at all, and he can feel the slick of sweat against Jongin’s chest. Like this, he’s bracketed in, Jongin on nearly every side. Gone is the Jongin that was only out for his own pleasure, because now he fucks into Mark slow and steady, the way he moves causing each thrust to rub the tip of his dick against Mark’s swollen and battered prostate.

He’s so overwhelmed, he doesn’t realize he’s crying again until he feels the wetness of it on the pillow. Jongin’s thrusts pull small cries from him and he’s feeling so much at once. It’s the perfect sex, and the perfect, romantic evening, and he loves the way Jongin treats him like a precious flower and fucks him like a dirty whore. He could have him this way everyday and never get enough. He _wants_ him everyday. 

He must be clenching down without realizing it, because Jongin can’t keep his moans muffled anymore. 

“Fuck, fuck Mark.... Mark? Mark?” 

And then he’s being rolled over, quietly whining at the loss when Jongin slips out of him during the move. Hands come up to cup his face gently, thumbs rolling over the tears and wiping them away. 

“Mark, baby, are you ok? Was that too much, did I hurt you? Why didn’t you use your safeword honey?” 

“N—no,” Mark sniffles, only crying harder from the embarrassment of being seen this way. It’s pathetic, but he’s vulnerable enough that he can’t hide it. “Please, please I need—don’t stop—”

Jongin kisses away his tears as he enters Mark again. He gasps, and the tears keep flowing now, but through it all Jongin peppers kisses across his cheeks. Jongin barely even moves, but the weight and heat of Jongin inside him and the new hand working his achingly hard dick is more than enough to send Mark over the edge. 

Mark doesn’t want him to, but Jongin pulls out when Mark cums. He wants it in him, wants to be filled up, but he knows he’s too sensitive from the rough fucking Jongin gave him, and he feels too boneless and emotionally drained for the over-sensitivity to feel any good. 

Instead, he opens his legs—ignoring the cry of his inner thighs—to create a place for Jongin to kneel as he jerks off. Jongin doesn’t close his eyes the whole time, and Mark watches him scan his entire, blissed-out body with hooded eyes until Jongin is aiming low and coming on Mark’s hole, his balls, his softening dick. 

Mark focuses on just breathing—it’s about the most he can do at the moment. He watches blearily as Jongin stumbles to the bathroom and returns with a washcloth to wipe them up. Mark lets himself be pulled under the covers, bending like a plant to Jongin’s warmth. He’ll have to leave in a few hours, but Mark can see himself out tomorrow morning. 

“I can’t believe you wore lace underwear for me,” Jongin whispers in Mark’s hair. Already Mark’s eyes are drooping. 

“Did you like it?” he slurs. 

“I _loved_ it,” Jongin says. 

In his last moments of wakefulness, Mark breathes out a feather-light, “I love you.” 

He thinks he may hear Jongin say, “Oh baby, I love you too.” But in the morning, he’ll chalk it up to being just his imagination. 

-

Mark’s vision whites out when he sees the photos. 

The headline says _International Supermodel Kai Kim Cuddles up with Billionaire Tae-min Lee,_ but Mark knows from the smile that it’s not Kai, but _Jongin_ in those photos, grinning and laughing in the arms of a billionaire. 

And it’s a stupid, disgusting tabloid, but the photos speak for themselves. Taemin Lee and Jongin in London at a cozy booth drinking exorbitantly-priced champagne, arms thrown around each other, close as can be. In one photo, Jongin is nuzzling against the side of Taemin’s face. 

Not his proudest moment, but he sees the photos during class and decides to just get up and spend the rest of the day in bed. 

The worst part about it is that he has no right to be mad. Jongin isn’t his boyfriend, and they’re not even technically exclusive. They’ve agreed to tell each other when they sleep with other people for the sake of sexual safety, but so far, there’s been nothing on either side. Jongin is a fucking beautiful Adonis supermodel, honestly, and Mark should have expected that eventually, he would find someone else to fuck. It hurts, though. It hurts like nothing else. 

To make things worse, Mark texts Jongin a spiteful _enjoying London?_ for the sole purpose of being able to wallow in his misery that much more. 

Yangyang and Chris discover him in bed, wrapped up like a burrito with the _A Star is Born_ torrent playing on his laptop. For the last half an hour he’s been trying to decide if he should try and max out Jongin’s Black Card or cut the thing in half and throw it out the window. Moving, though, has proved to be difficult. 

“Hey mate, everything ok? I saw you walk out of class like that. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you didn’t look so hot.” Chris sits carefully at the end of the bed. 

“Yeah, and you look like shit now,” Yangyang adds. 

“Look,” Mark says, and flings his phone at them. It’s open to the photos. 

Yangyang sighs. “Oh, loverboy.”

“Am I missing something?” Chris asks quietly. 

“Mark’s hookup is a supermodel,” Yangyang explains. “Kai Kim, who appears to be canoodling with... is that the weird billionaire? Our boy’s a little lovesick.” 

Mark moans in confirmation. 

“Ah, ok, gotcha.” Mark feels Chris sit further up the bed so he can carefully stroke his hand through Mark’s hair. “Mate, let me know if I’m going too far here. But did you set up boundaries with this guy?” 

“We had an _arrangement_ ,” Mark says, voice muffled by the blanket. 

“Sugar baby,” Yangyang stage whispers. 

“Righty. The thing is, if we never talk about our feelings and whatnot, then sometimes people are bound to do things that make us upset. I’m not saying you can’t be sad, but is it fair to blame Kai, either? This is what happens when we don’t have good communication.” 

He hates that Chris’ words make perfect sense when all he wants to do is mope. Chris is completely correct, though. But if Mark were upfront about what he wants from Jongin, then he might not get to have him at all. Which situation is more unbearable—sharing Jongin, or losing him? 

Later, Mark gets a text that pulls him out of bed. 

_No,_ Jongin writes. _:( it’s too rainy and i miss you. see you soon baby <3 _

-

**March**

Mark is a coward. And because he’s a coward, he doesn’t even _think_ about confronting Jongin about the photos of him and Taemin. He always used to become frustrated at people in movies who made the dumbest choices because of something like _love,_ but you know what? Now he gets it. He’s in love, and he doesn’t want to fight. It’s better for them both if nothing changes, so Mark keeps his mouth shut. 

Things _do_ change, of course, as is the natural way. 

When Jongin returns from fashion week, something in their dynamic shifts, but to Mark’s surprise, it’s for the better. They text all the time still, about little things, but about big things, too. Mark is the first person to hear about Jongin’s jewelry deal, and he’s the person Jongin goes to when he first begins to think about making a large donation to a youth dance program in Harlem. He asks Mark about his day and his dreams, and is patient throughout Mark’s venting, and they text good night and good morning, every morning. Now, there are even days when Mark goes over to Jongin’s and they just sit together while Jongin draws and Mark does his homework. Sometimes they don’t even have sex. 

More than ever, Jongin feels like Mark’s boyfriend, and it’s confusing as hell. He doesn’t once mention Taemin and for Mark, the billionaire is out of sight, out of mind. Too bad he’s constantly appearing on social media because of his eccentric antics. 

The biggest change of them all is when someone else enters their circle of two. 

Though they now have some overlap in their lives with Ten and Lucas, _them_ , together, remains a secret. The only people Mark’s told have never met Jongin and have hardly any chance of ever meeting him, and so they feel safe. Separate. Mark has no idea if Jongin’s told anyone on his side. 

But the intrusion happens when Mark is least expecting it; on a Thursday evening, when he doesn’t have class again until Monday and it looking forward to watching another season of _The Great British Baking Show_ and drinking fancy wine inbetween rounds of fucking. He’s not wearing anything particularly nice, just a casual outfit he knows he looks good in, ripped black jeans and a pricey t-shirt that fits like a glove. 

The princess butt plug is threatening to burn a hole through his backpack. 

He lets himself in as he usually does, Airpods still tucked in his ears, Frank Ocean’s melancholic voice pumping into his brain. He doesn’t notice the second voice accompanying Jongin’s until he’s toeing off his shoes in the entryway, backpack half slung off his shoulder. 

Shit. _Shit,_ shit—did he miss a text from Jongin telling him to not come over? No, it’d be too awkward to check. Should he back off slowly? Run away screaming? 

“Mark, great timing!” Jongin is grinning at him ear to ear from where he’s curled up on his couch. He looks soft and comfortable in simple gray joggers, relaxed, the complete opposite way Mark feels. Jongin’s companion is one of his friends that needs no introductions. _Of course_ Mark knows who Byun Baekhyun is, the nation’s vocalist who performed at the fucking Olympics and who kills everything from ballads to smooth R&B. And here he is, slouched against the other arm of Jongin’s couch looking at Mark like he’s an interesting story on the nightly news.

“Come here,” Jongin waves him over. He seems so happy and excited to see him, but Mark just feels wary. He waits until he gets a couple feet away before he greets Baekhyun in his best and most polite Korean. Small bow and everything. Jongin laughs. 

“Aw, how cute,” Baekhyun smiles. “He’s precious Jongin, just like you said.” 

“You—ah—talk about me?” Mark squeaks out. 

“ _Nini,_ that blush,” Baekhyun cackles. Pointing it out only makes said blush more intense. He’s not enjoying being the center of attention, especially not between two such immense figures. 

“I know,” Jongin says proudly. With Mark finally within his range, he pulls the younger down onto the couch—nearly onto his lap—and winds all of his limbs around Mark until he’s being properly cuddled. 

“Nini?” Around his waist, Jongin’s arms tighten.

“Jongin’s nickname,” Baekhyun provides with a knowing look their way. 

“It sounds really good when you say it,” Jongin says into the fabric of Mark’s t-shirt. 

“No need to be anxious,” Jongin whispers in his ear while Baekhyun is distracted momentarily by his manager texting him. “Baekhyun is my longtime secret-keeper.” 

“Ok,” Mark whisper-replies, not feeling any better. He’s still technically a secret, then. “If you trust him, I trust him.” 

“Great, I’m already the third wheel,” Baekhyun interjects.

“You were on your phone! What happened to no screen time during friend time?”

“It’s different when it’s your _manager,_ ” Baekhyun scoffs. “Some of us have to work instead of just stand around looking pretty.” 

“Um, I’m Mark, but I guess you already knew that?” Mark directs at Baekhyun, attempting to have some kind of a normal conversation. Really, he’s the one who feels like he’s a third-wheel. “I—Ireallylikeyoumusic,” he says all in one breath. Smooth one, Mark. 

“Thank you,” Baekhyun says with a genuine warmth. “Do you want an autograph? I love giving autographs.” 

“Baek, stop trying to force your autograph on people,” Jongin complains. 

“Not until you stop whining when you’re not the center of attention.” 

“Give me a break, I can’t help it when my baby’s right here and giving you all the attention instead of me.” 

“What can I say, I’m magnetic.” 

“Um, I’m right here guys?” To keep himself occupied, Mark starts to play with the ankle of Jongin’s sweatpants. The bottom is a little frayed and worn because they’re his favorite pair, and also the ones Mark sometimes wears when he’s over. They feel so lived-in and well-loved. 

“Oh, Mark’s a songwriter and a producer! He’s really good. He goes to NYU for music production,” Jongin perks up. Internally, and maybe a little externally, Mark cringes. God, it’s so embarrassing. People probably tell a famous singer like Baekhyun about their own music all the time, as if any lame song he’s made with Donghyuck can compare to _City Lights._

“Really? That’s sick, can I hear some stuff?” It’s completely unfair, because Baekhyun is so polite and kind. He doesn’t do anything to brush off Mark’s admiration, nor does he deflect from Jongin pushing Mark in his face in this casual setting. Even if he’s just doing it to be nice to Jongin’s... whatever Mark is... it makes him feel some kind of way. 

“No, no, I couldn’t ask that of you man,” Mark tries to shake him off. No way he’s read for this, even with Jongin’s encouragement. It was the same with D.O. 

“Are you sure?” Baekhyun frowns. “I’d love to hear it.” 

“Show him the videos you showed me,” Jongin urges. 

“Perfect!” Baekhyun is already leaning forward. 

“I deleted them!” Mark blurts out—a dirty lie. He sent some of them to Jongin anyways, but he’s hoping the other doesn’t remember that, or if he does, he’ll leave it alone. “Maybe some other time?” 

“Some other time,” Baekhyun agrees easily. Mark doubts it—he feels like he’s made a pretty big idiot of himself. Fuck, he wishes Jongin had warned him. All he wants now is to curl up in Jongin’s bed and do nothing. “Now Nini, your apartment is beautiful, but I’ve seen enough of it. I’m in New York! Take me around the city!” 

“Sounds good.” Jongin hooks his chin over Mark’s shoulder. “I know this jazz/R&B fusion longue we could go to.”

Oh. If they’re going out, then maybe Mark will get his nap after all.

Baekhyun moans in delight. “Perfect! Let me go put on something sexy.” He bounces up to his feet and goes off in the direction of the guest room, but not before aiming a slender finger at Mark and Jongin. “Don’t even think about a quickie you two.” 

Jongin licks at Mark’s neck. “No promises.” 

When Baekhyun’s gone, Jongin and Mark unwravel themselves, too. Mark is going to suggest he leaves when he realizes that Jongin is talking to him. “—by this point I definitely have enough stuff that fits you in my closet, and you look so sexy in my clothes anyways—”

“Wait,” Mark interrupts. “I’m coming too?” 

“Of course,” Jongin says. “Wait, I mean, only if you want to! Do you want to come? I should have asked, I’m sorry.” 

“I—” Does he _want_ to? Mark’s heart is about to burst from happiness, and perhaps also anxiety. His hand finds Jongin’s and the touch lingers in a simple, tender way. “Of course I do.” _I just didn’t know if I was allowed,_ he leaves unsaid.

“It’ll be a good night.” Jongin slides up to Mark to pull him into a short kiss. As always, Jongin feels like heaven against him. When they pull away, though, Jongin’s face is laced with concern. “Hey, that wasn’t too much, was it? With the songs?” 

“It was—” _a lot._ “Nope, everything’s good.” 

Jongin kisses him again, and like the touch of their hands, the feeling of it stays after it’s over. “If you say so, I believe you. Let’s get ready before Baekhyun murders us, but god knows how long it will take for that man to be ready himself.” 

“Wait, erm, there’s one more thing.” Mark can’t even believe he’s the one suggesting this. “I also brought the—the plug. The one you gave me. I was thinking I should... wear it. While we’re out.” 

He’s blushing too hard to make eye-contact, but he does see Jongin’s lips fall open, a small portrait of surprise. Five minutes later, he’s pushed up against the vanity in Jongin’s bathroom as the older man pumps two slicked-up fingers in and out of him while mouthing at the back of his neck. 

The plug slides in with just the barest of burns. Jongin pulls his pants back up, tucking in Mark’s half-hard dick and everything.

He reaches down and slides two fingers into the crack of Mark’s ass, over his clothes, where the plug is now hiding and jostles Mark. The plug moves inside him and Mark can’t help but gasp, falling forwards into Jongin’s chest. 

God, this is going to be torture. Mark can’t wait. 

Just like Jongin said, it does indeed take nearly twice as long for Baekhyun to finish his hair, makeup, and outfit. Jongin teases him about looking like he’s going on a hot date, but Baekhyun defends himself by saying it’s not often when he gets to parade around a city with some freedom. For once, the cameras will be trained on someone besides him—Jongin. 

Fortunately, the lounge they end up at is so darkly lit on the inside flashless-photos would be useless. The music coming through the speakers is indeed a mix of jazz and hiphop styles, a curious but strangely fitting combination. 

It’s not too loud that they can’t talk to each other, either. Both Baekhyun and Jongin have such beautiful voices that Mark could listen to them talk together, and Mark gleans a lot from their comfortable back and forth. They’ve known each other since they were both barely famous and had their big breaks around the same time, too. Back when Jongin was dancing more, there were talks of a collab, but their different management companies couldn’t get anything worked out. 

“That’s the problem with Korean management,” Jongin tells a bemoaning Baekhyun. “So many rules. The agency I’m with now has flaws, but at least I don’t have to jump into a bush to avoid being in a photo with Bela Hadid.” 

“That was one time!”

“You were being serious?” Mark laughs. The mental image of Baekhyun flailing his limbs to hide in a plant is just too good. 

“One. Time,” Baekhyun insists. 

Mark plays with the rim of his wine glass—when you buy bottles costing upwards of a hundred, no one questions how old you are. Especially not when you roll with people like Baekhyun and Jongin. They sit together at a circular booth with red leather seats, Mark in the middle. For some reason, Jongin needs to be touching him at all times; it’s a hand on his thigh here, an arm thrown around his shoulder, fingers playing with his ear. 

There’s a fire burning deep in Mark’s gut, all because Jongin is touching him out in the open where people can see, where Baekhyun is literally _watching._ It’s liberating. It’s terrifying. 

There’s something else in his gut, too, and that’s the thick arousal coming from the plug. He’s still maintaining a steady half hard on that shows no sign of flagging. 

“This place is so cool,” Mark admires. Even the brocade ceiling is beautiful. 

“You think? I should bring you here more often then.” Jongin pours him more wine. Even though it probably won’t happen, it’s a nice fantasy for Mark to entertain. 

“My friend!” A voice booms, loud enough to be heard clearly over the music. In the next second, Mark spots a familiar tall-figure headed straight towards them. Of anyone Mark would have thought to run into here, he would never have guessed Lucas, but here the man is in the flesh. 

“Lucas!” Jongin grins, matching the other’s puppy-like enthusiasm. They’re a precious pair, Jongin and Lucas. If Lucas sees anything odd about Mark being here with Jongin, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Sit down, sit down,” Jongin is saying. He still hasn’t let go of Mark, and in fact uses Lucas’ arrival to get even closer under the guise of making more room for Lucas. His hand falls dangerously high on Mark’s thigh, and Jongin must know Mark is hard under the table, but he doesn’t go near the strain in his pants. 

“C’mere, sit on this side,” Baekhyun chimes in suddenly. He pats the space on the leather beside himself. Lucas looks at him, it appears, for the first time. 

“Hi,” he says meekly. Is that... is that a _blush_ Mark spies on Lucas’ cheeks? It is, it definitely is. Lucas chooses the seat beside Baekhyun, and the singer uses it as an opportunity to interrogate Lucas on every detail of his life. 

Somehow, Jongin’s entire body has migrated to being pressed against the whole of Mark’s side. He welcomes the warmth 

“I didn’t know Lucas and you were becoming such good friends,” Jongin says, soft but warm, too. The idea of Mark and Lucas being friends is a good one for him. 

“He’s a lot of fun.” 

“He _looks_ like fun. I’m a little jealous, you know.” 

Mark strokes the many rings on Jongin’s hand. “What, why? How could you be jealous when I spent 90 percent of my time with you?” 

“Maybe I want the full hundred,” Jongin pouts. Mark is desperate, aching with it, really, to kiss it right off his face. He forces himself to remember the setting. Not here—some things are still out of bounds. 

“Excuse me!” Baekhyun butts in. “Can you two stop being such disgusting boyfriends and pay attention to your friends? For all you know, Lucas could be telling me very embarrassing information and you’d have no opportunity to defend yourself.” 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Lucas says, sounding confused. He and Baekhyun are operating on different planets, but to Mark’s eyes, he doesn’t seem at all bothered by that. He probably finds Baekhyun interesting, like stumbling upon a golden find at a flea market. 

Not that Baekhyun is flea market material. God knows he’s _haute couture._

“You wouldn’t? Oh, you’re a sweet one then,” Baekhyun purrs. They all know, perhaps except for Lucas himself, that the playful hand Baekhyun places on Lucas’ arm didn’t land there by accident. Baekhyun sounds like he wants to eat him alive. 

But none of that really registers to Mark. His mind is still frozen on the word _boyfriends._ When Baekhyun said it, Mark managed a glance at Jongin, but the other didn't seem fazed at all. Neither did he challenge Baekhyun’s wording. _Boyfriends,_ wow. Only is such a thing true in Mark’s dreams, and here it is, being dangled out in front of him. 

The cocktail waitress comes by at the perfect moment. Jongin gets them all another round of something fruity with tequila. Good. Mark needs to drink more for this. 

“Oooh! I love this song,” Baekhyun grins at Jongin from across the table. He begins to croon along the the show-off the world knows him to be, and successfully goades Jongin into joining him. Mark didn’t know Jongin sang—he has a lovely voice, honey, like his skin. 

Mark would try and make eye-contact with Lucas, but the other is wrapped fully around Baekhyun’s finger, now. 

“Is Baekhyun always like this?” Mark asks, hush. 

With his thumb, Jongin wipes away a stray drop of Mark’s drink lingering by his mouth. His gaze lingers heavily on Mark’s lips even when his hand pulls away. This is dangerous. Mark’s only had two drinks and he feels lightheaded. He could do something stupid at any moment. He is, in fact, without even realizing it angling his head up, waiting for Jongin to kiss him. He turns his head back down when he catches himself. 

“Pretty much,” Jongin answers. His voice doesn’t give away if he noticed Mark’s posturing. “It’s impossible to take him anywhere. He sees a hot asian guy over six feet and loses all inhibitions.” 

“Should I... uh....” how does he put this delicately? “Should I be watching out for Lucas?”

“No, it’ll be ok.” Jongin nuzzles the top of Mark’s head. Jongin’s a lightweight—he must be feeling tipsy. “Baekhyun gets around, but he’s not careless with other people’s feelings.” 

Mark takes a sip of his drink. Baekhyun and Lucas are still doing their... thing, but Mark isn’t paying attention to them. Besides him, Jongin burns like a furnace, and with plus his buzz, he’s feeling great. It’s hard to focus on anything _but_ Jongin when he’s around. 

“I like that,” Jongin says. 

“What?” 

“That you worry about your friend. It’s sweet. Very becoming of a young man like you.”

“Yeah, because you’re _ancient_ compared to me,” Mark teases. “Why? Do you want me to call you daddy or something.” 

Jongin’s nose wrinkles in distaste, but he laughs. Mark would definitely describe Jongin as kinky, and he may call Mark _baby_ constantly, but the daddy dom stuff doesn’t suit him. There’s a push and pull between them. Mark loves that. 

“Sounds like baby’s fishing for compliments,” Jongin whispers into Mark’s ear. His arm wraps even tighter around Mark’s waist, fingers dipping below the waist in a move that’s definitely not kosher for this jazz lounge. He shakes Mark’s ass purposefully, knowing that it will also make the plug shift. It does, and Mark has to bite back a moan. 

Time to get out of here. 

“Think they’ll be fine if we leave them?” Looking over again to the other pair and the table, Mark’s own question is answered for him. Baekhyun has crawled into Lucas’ lap, to better suck hickies into his neck, and the model has one of his huge hands gripping Baekhyun’s ass. 

Jongin snickers. “I bet. Yo, Baekhyunnie, text me tomorrow.” 

Baekhyun makes some kind of noise in the affirmative. Lucas, though, looks up to follow study Mark and spots the way Jongin has his hand tucked casually into the back of Mark’s jeans. He feels watched, and gets the sense Lucas is maybe a lot sharper than he lets on. When Mark gives him a nod, though, he turns his attention—and dick—back to the man in his lap.

Besides, Mark has his own man to attend to. 

-

Jongin barely loses a breath when he hoists Mark up onto the kitchen island. Fuck, it’s so hot, the way he can just throw Mark around like he weighs nothing. Mark wraps his legs around that tiny waist and hauls him in closer, all the while keeping their mouths connected in a scorching kiss. His lips are stained a bit from the drink, and they look so pretty and pink, Mark can’t help himself when he goes back to them again and again. 

Not that Jongin minds. He seems just as desperate for Mark as Mark is for him. His hands won’t stay still, and instead roam all over Mark’s back, his shoulders. With his hands on Mark’s waist, he rocks him back and forth on the counter, and the plug buried in Mark’s ass rocks, too. It’s so good, fuck, it’s so good. 

The weight against Mark is more than he would expect, Jongin leaning on him heavier than he would without the alcohol thrumming through him. A little sloppier, too, but not bad. Never bad.

Pants come off in a flash and Jongin watches, mesmerized at the way Mark’s greedy hole tries to suck the plug back in when Jongin tugs at it with his long fingers. 

“Please.” Mark’s whining and desperate for it now. He doesn’t even let Jongin get far enough away to get lube—they use olive oil instead. 

The angle is far from perfect, but it still feels amazing when Jongin enters him. Having the plug inside felt like a filthy secret, but the pleasure of being open and ready for Jongin without even being prepped is erotic in its own way. There’s even the added obscenity of both of them still wearing half their clothes, Mark in his shirt and socks, and Jongin having taken only the barest amount of seconds to pull his fly down. 

It's enough to bring Mark to the edge at a pace that would be embarrassing if Jongin weren’t right there with him. 

“Make me cum,” Mark begs. Normally so vocal, Jongin hasn’t talked much tonight, so Mark takes it upon himself to grab the reins. As he lies back on the counter, he grabs onto Jongin’s shirt to take them down together. Finally the angle is good, and that’s all Mark needs, really, the feeling of Jongin pounding into his slick, open hole and a loose fist around his cock. 

Jongin doesn’t cum though, although he seems so close. He pulls out as soon as Mark winces with the oversensitivity, and instead of jerking himself off, chooses instead to lay his head on Mark’s stomach. Tomorrow, they’ll need to send both their shirts to the dry cleaner’s. 

“Everything good?” Mark asks carefully. Just slightly, he hesitates before running his hand through Jongin’s hair, essentially petting the other. It’s the constant reminder of _boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend,_ under his skin that gives in the confidence. Jongin continues panting into the fabric of Mark’s shirt, the warmth of his breath making the fabric just barely damp. “Whiskey dick?” 

Jongin reaches blindly for Mark’s free hand and entwines their fingers. He laughs some breathy laughs into Mark’s body. “Maybe,” he answers. “But it was good for you, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s always good with you,” Mark answers honestly. 

Mark drags them both out of their remaining clothes and into bed. They leave them on the kitchen floor for tomorrow’s problem, and if Baekhyun walks in too early, well then, that’ll be his fault. But Mark’s already decided he’s not finished with Jongin yet. 

Stretched out naked on his bed, Jongin is the perfect image of sexuality personified. His red erection throbs against his hip, matching the deep flush on his chest and cheeks. His hair is artfully ruffled and he sports a content grin, the kind of expression he always makes when he gets a good orgasm out of Mark. 

This is all about Jongin now, though. 

Instead of settling to Jongin’s side, or even directly in his lap, Mark slides into the space between his legs and settles down with his chest pressed carefully against Jongin’s abdomen. The other raises an eyebrow but fights nothing else. It’s an addicting feeling, trust. Mark considers Jongin’s a very precious possession. 

“Nini,” Mark tries. The nickname is new on his tongue, but not in a bad way. Ever since he heard Baekhyun say it, he’s been wondering how much Jongin likes it. If he would like it coming from Mark’s mouth. From the way Jongin shudders underneath him, Mark can say he enjoys it _a lot._ “Nini, I’m going to take care of you now.” 

“You don’t—”

“I want to. I really, really want to. Let me, want to do it for you.” Trapped between his stomach, Jongin’s heavy dick jumps. 

In his mouth, Mark takes one of Jongin’s cute brown nipples and swirls his tongue. Jongin moans weakly. He must be painfully hard now, but still unable to get the buildup going to a release. Mark plans on fixing that. 

“You sound good,” Mark says. “Sound really pretty when I suck on your tits.” 

“Ah, Mark!” Jongin throws an arm over his face. It’s funny to think he’s embarrassed after some of the filth that’s poured out of his mouth over the past few months. Mark continues his ministrations, adding in his hand to play with Jongin’s other nipple. No pleasure front left unattended, and all.

For a change, it’s Jongin that powerless before Mark, who’s given himself up completely. Or it just appears that way, because they’re both well aware of how when Jongin’s the one in control, he’s doing it for Mark’s pleasure, too. Jongin’s selflessness is something to be admired, even though it sometimes comes off as the opposite. Mark knows better. 

It’s mesmerizing, the way Jongin’s tummy feels when he sucks in and arches up. Under Mark’s hand it feels like Jongin’s been hollowed out at the only thing left of him is his pleasure. 

With his teeth Mark grazes softly against the hard nub and Jongin moans even louder, the sound of it vibrating off the walls. He loves how sensitive Jongin’s nipples are, even more so how embarrassed and flustered he gets when Mark plays with them. He wants to try, sometime when they’re not both a little drunk, to see if he can just Jongin off just like this. 

From where it’s trapped against Mark’s stomach Jongin’s cock pulses and leaks hot precum against Mark’s navel. Jongin starts to move his hip in a stuttering rhythm, using the friction of Mark’s body to get himself off. 

Through his eyelashes Mark can see Jongin’s shoulders, tense, and the long line of his neck with his head thrown back. When Mark pulls off to change nipples, licking at the other one in circles, Jongin’s eyes snap back to him. Dark pupils, blown out and glistening with tears greet him.

“Ah, aaaah.” Jongin looks completely gone, utterly deconstructed and non-verbal. If anything would be able to get Jongin off now, it would be this. 

Instead of letting him do that, Mark pulls off. Jongin’s weak hands try to grab him back but Mark is too fast and too determined, already moving down the line of Jongin’s perfect, slim body. Maybe Jongin thought he was going his cock, weeping and swollen, but Mark grabs Jongin’s thighs hard enough to bruise and man-handles his hips up.

At the first kitten-ish lick of Mark’s tongue against the pucker of Jongin’s asshole, he doesn’t so much as cry out as _scream_ , jolts of pleasure spreading through his body fast and furious. On his knees Mark has the perfect view of Jongin’s face, and the slack-jawed expression he makes is portrait-worthy. Here, too, Jongin is sensitive. 

Before Jongin, Mark had never done this with anyone, but the first time Jongin went down on him like this Mark came so hard he saw stars. Afterwards Jongin had confessed that it was one of his favorite things to do and receive, and of course Mark wasn’t going to let that kind of knowledge go to waste. 

Mark kisses around the Jongin’s hole, wet kisses and passes of his tongue that create a beautiful, sloppy mess. Jongin’s hole flutters around him, too, begging for more when Jongin is too blissed-out to beg himself. His pace starts quickly, because at this point it would be cruel to tease Jongin further. There have been days, though, when Mark’s had time to take Jongin apart in the late hours of the night, curled up in this very bed with the sheets that have been washed who knows how many times. 

Tomorrow, there’s no doubt Mark will feel Jongin in his body still, and Mark wants a piece of himself marked on Jongin’s body, too, even if it’s where no one will see. 

It’s amazing how quickly Jongin falls apart like this. He’s crying earnestly now, it almost seems like too much, if not for the fact that he’s begging Mark, “Don’t stop, don’t—ah, ah—stop. Yes, _yes,_ ” through his tears. 

So Mark pushes in tongue in past the tight ring of muscle, resisting, but only slightly from how wet and sloppy he is. Jongin trembles so beautifully under him, gives up entirely with trying to move his hips along with Mark’s short thrusts of his tongue. He lies on the sheets squirming and crying, only babbling to beg Mark for more, more, he can take it. 

“Make me cum,” Jongin begs, words hurried and slurring into each other. He looks at Mark through wet lashes. His hands are white-knuckled on the sheets. “Baby, baby, I wanna cum. Need to cum.” 

Mark’s pretty sure Jongin would kill him if he stopped, even to talk filth into Jongin’s ears, so he just grips Jongin’s cock in his fist without saying anything. God, he’s so hard, no wonder Jongin is crying—at this point, his arousal must be painful, which only serves to heighten the pleasure. 

Jongin’s orgasm doesn’t so much arrive as is pulled out of him. “Fuck! _Fuck!”_ He swears. Mark pulls his mouth away but milks Jongin through his orgasm with his hand, stroking with care and attention to not push Jongin over into a place of too much. Jongin arches off the bed and presses his face fitfully into the pillow as he spurts over Mark’s hand, his own chest, and all Mark tries to do is ride it along with him. 

As the last burst of cum dribbles out, Jongin pushes Mark’s hand away. Somehow he feels nervous, caught out in no-man’s land. Was that good? Well, of course it was _good,_ but was it too much? Should he have backed off? Maybe—

“Oh my god,” Jongin sighs dreamily and makes grabbing motions for Mark to come closer in the same breath. “Holy shit Mark, come here, please baby, need you here.” 

Warm arms close around Mark’s shoulders and waist. They’re both covered in spit and sweat and cum, but for the moment none of that matters. Even now Jongin is still shaking, so Mark manages to get them both cuddled together under the sheets. 

“Oh my god.” Jongin repeats. peppers kisses across Mark’s brow. It seems Mark fucked some sobriety into him. “I... I don’t _know_. I came so hard I thought I was gonna pass out, it was really that amazing. You’re so good to me baby.” 

Something warm flushes through Mark’s chest. There’s an indescribable feeling that comes with making Jongin feel this way, hearing him be so happy and satisfied. 

“Do you even know how you looked between my thighs like that?” Jongin continues. “I wish I’d taken a picture because holy shit I’m going to jerk off to that thought the next time we’re apart.” 

Mark groans. He tries to bury himself further into Jongin’s chest. He’s got nothing left. “Stop turning me on when I’m so tired.”

“I can’t help it sweetheart.” Mark can hear his smile. “You make me this way.” 

-

Morning rolls around, and Mark isn’t surprised to see a text from Lucas waiting for him when he manages to escape from the nest Jongin’s constructed around them in the night. 

_Not asking any questions man, but here if you wanna talk._

You know what? Mark does. 

-

**April**

April brings with it the arrival of spring in full force, along with Mark’s allergies and a mind-boggling amount of stress for good measure. Sure, there were a few warm days in March, but it also snowed once, too. Weather in the northeast is as untrustworthy as the robocalls trying to sell you car insurance. 

It’s not just the looming threat of finals getting to Mark, but also the general imposing threat of The Future. With April comes showers, but also the bulk of summer internship programs applications, one of which Mark is desperate for. Not even a particular one. Anything at this point will do. 

It’s funny talking to Lucas about this kind of thing, because unlike Yangyang and Chris, who are embroiled in exactly the same kind of situation themselves, Lucas doesn’t understand it at all. He’s been modeling since his teenage years, and never had anything less than opportunities flowing his way. Not to discount how hard Lucas works—because Mark gets now how difficult modeling can be—but Lucas is simply the kind of person life has in favor. 

Ever since they ran into each other at the jazz lounge they’ve made the transition from _friendly_ to _friends._ Mark’s social circle was small to begin with, and it easily welcomes in another member. Yangyang and Chris both find Lucas hilarious. Wow, four friends. His mom would be proud. 

Coincidentally, that’s the same number of people who know about Mark and Jongin. Truthfully, when Mark confessed to Lucas everything that’s been going on the past few months, the prominent emotion he felt was relief. It was different with Chris, Yangyang, and Donghyuck, who’ve never met Jongin and person and are only familiar with his Kai persona. If Mark told them all he was an asshole who did Mark dirty, there’s no doubt the three of them would wholeheartedly take his side. A campus-wide burning of Kai Kim’s _Vogue_ issues would be organized the next day. 

But Mark knows that even if this all goes down in flames, Lucas will have a more measured take. He’s the voice of reason Mark needs, because god knows that left to his own devices Mark will just keep coming back again and again no matter how much it hurts. 

They met to talk about it over brunch back when it was still March, and Lucas was still wearing a hickey high on his neck from his escapades with Baekhyun. Lucas also kept his sunglasses on even though they sat inside. 

“I am not trying to be a cool guy,” he explained. “My head feels like... like...” 

“A bomb went off?” Mark offered Lucas nodded enthusiastically, then winced when the motion jostled his already delicate brain. 

Over a shared omelette and french toast doused with too much maple syrup, Lucas explained that when Baekhyun called Mark and Jongin boyfriends, he’d believed it. It was their body language, he explained. Not like how Baekhyun was flirting, but they were already comfortable with each other’s bodies. 

“I thought you got together after meeting at Ten’s,” Lucas shrugged. He took a bite of french toast and continued with his mouth full of food. “Is that not how it is?” 

“No, uh,” Make smiled sheepishly. “We’ve been doing this thing since October.”

Lucas choked. Not a great sign. 

“We’re not _together_ though, that’s the thing. We’ve got an ‘arrangement.’ Do you know what that means?” Lucas did, in fact, look lost. Mark sighed. He would have to be more opaque. “He pays me. He buys me stuff in, I guess, exchange for sex and—and company.” 

“Oh, that makes much more sense.” Lucas nodded. “It’s not... not common?”

“Uncommon.” 

“Yes. It’s not uncommon with people in this,” he waved a hand around himself generally. “World. To have sponsors or be sponsors. Lots of pressure in relationships.” 

“I mean I get it, no one likes commitment. But we see each other all the time. What I don’t get is that we pretty much _are_ dating, except that we can’t be seen together outside of his apartment for the most part.” 

Lucas furrowed his brow and stared at the table cloth like it was a particularly hard math problem. “Sorry, sorry. English is so hard, you know? When I say pressure I don’t mean commitment. I mean pressure as in,” Lucas mimed a camera shutter, “photos. People. Events. Online. Too much to handle for most.” 

This isn’t a perspective Mark had considered earlier. It does follow, though, when Mark thinks back on the initial proposal. Jongin said he wasn’t in total control of his public image, and that’s why he couldn’t offer Mark a relationship, only an exchange that was common in his circles. He never said he didn’t _want_ a relationship.

That was the problem between them—too much left unsaid. 

Now, in April, Mark is reminded by Lucas’ theory every time Jongin texts him something cute out of the blue. Because of Mark’s hectic schedule they haven’t seen each other often, but when they do connect, Mark’s left deliciously sore for days. Last weekend Mark skipped out on a party Hendery was throwing to spend the night at Jongin’s, which began with the model licking whipped cream off his stomach and ended with Mark riding Jongin on the kitchen floor until he came. Twice. 

They’ve been getting more adventurous, too. The time before that involved a vibrator. Not _in_ Mark, but pressed against the head of his dick while he leaked nonstop into Jongin’s fist. 

“I’m going crazy,” Mark slams his laptop shut and slumps down on it. He, Yangyang, and Chris are holed up in one of the private study rooms in their dorms. Chris barely looks up from where he’s plugged into his own computer, studio headphones dwarfing his head. Daydreaming about Jongin’s dick isn’t helping him be productive. 

“Dick crazy,” Yangyang mutters. Mark flicks his pen at him. 

“No violence please,” Chris says without even raising his eyes. 

“One, I’m not dick crazy. Two, this one internship application asked for my SAT score. Like, what?” Mark’s losing his mind. He’s decided to stop applying for internships that require a cover letter—he doesn’t have time to bother with such nonsense. 

His phone is right there on the table, begging to be used. Mark’s fingers are itching to text Jongin, to free himself from this terrible educational prison. Why did he transfer, again? 

Oh yeah, to come home to New York. Gotcha. 

“You say you aren’t, but dude, I’ve seen you without your shirt on every day. Are we sure loverboy isn’t a vampire?” Yangyang says.

“It would explain his impossibly good looks,” Chris adds. He’s stopped pretending he’s not listening in on their conversation. 

“Why does every conversation have to come back to my sex life?” Mark bemoans being the center of attention like this. He doesn’t mind talking about it with his friends, naturally, but it does come up _a lot_. He’s thankful they don’t judge him (too much) for his emotional constipation when it comes to Jongin. They’ve easily recognized that Mark isn’t going to listen to their advice, no matter how good it is, if it doesn’t align with what he wants already. So they don’t bother with the lectures. 

“It’s way cooler than anything we’ve going on,” Yangyang sighs. Chris murmurs in agreement. 

“Arghh. Should I just cut my losses for today and text him now?” 

“How many apps did you do today?” Chris asks.

“Two, but I also made a spreadsheet.”

“Close enough. Might as well do it.” 

Nearly three hours later, Mark finds himself riding Jongin’s fingers after having begged for it, first with his words, then with the heat of his mouth. At first Jongin was so cruel, though, and had Mark finger himself open while they both watched in the mirror. He’d wanted so badly to tear his eyes away, the sight of himself coming apart like that coupled with the _sounds_ of it, but eventually, Jongin took pity on him and replaced Mark’s fingers with his own long ones. 

“Your little pink hole is so pretty.” Jongin kisses the dip of Mark’s lower back. It’s all on Mark to fuck himself back on Jongin’s fingers. To use them to get himself off. The barre classes Jongin pays for have been putting work in, though. “I could watch you like this for hours until it gets all puffy and sensitive.” 

“Already—ah—already is sensitive,” Mark tells him.

“One day,” Jongin hums thoughtfully, “I should just go back and forth from your mouth to your asshole. Both of them are mine to use, anyways. It seems like such a shame that I only get them one at a time.” 

“Don’t sound so—fuck, _there—_ casual while you say that shit.” Deep in him Jongin twists his fingers so they hit in just the right spot that has Mark gripping down tight on the sheets. 

“Why, baby? You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t get you hard and leaking. I already know you’re a little slut. Earlier you were crying for my dick, and when I fucked your throat with it you thanked me after. You’re still thanking me, even though I’m giving you my fingers instead. Good sluts take what they’re given, and that’s what makes you the best baby boy.”

And fuck, Jongin’s so right. Mark feels right there all of sudden, and just like Jongin says, it’s mostly because of the dirty praise that pours from Jongin’s mouth. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Mark wimpers. He buries his head in the pillows to buckle down and put renewed vigor into how he’s sitting back on Jongin’s fingers, but then they’re getting removed entirely and Mark is clenching around nothing. 

Jongin’s hands are on his waist, flipping him around until Mark’s on his back, exposed and vulnerable. It’s so Mark can have a clear view for when Jongin puts his own fingers up to his lips—the ones that were inside Mark only a few seconds ago—and flicks out his tongue around them. 

That devilish smile rears its head. “You taste so good. Can you be good?” 

That’s _all_ Mark wants. And so when Jongin offers those same fingers to Mark, he sucks on them like his life (and orgasm) depends on it. It’s clear from Jongin’s patience that he’ll only continue when he feels like Mark’s done a good enough job, like he’s properly submitted to Jongin’s gentle but assured command.

“Your ass was so delicious, I think I want more.” 

He ducks down and takes the head of Mark’s cock into his mouth, swirling around the head with his tongue. “Choke me with your thighs, baby,” Jongin tells him. 

The heat and pressure around his dick is good—heavenly—but it’s the sight of Jongin’s perfect, chiseled cheeks hollowed out around Mark’s cock and trapped between his legs that has him coming. Jongin doesn’t pull off until Mark is squirming and every last drop ends up in his mouth. 

Mark should have expected what comes next. While Mark is floating through his post-orgasm haze, Jongin has already crawled up the length of his body until he’s hovering over him on his elbows. One thumb on his lip is all Mark needs until he’s opening his mouth, watching as the white, pearly cum glistens on Jongin’s tongue before it’s dripping down. 

Jongin chases it with a kiss, or not so much of a kiss as Jongin sucking on Mark’s tongue. The saltiness of his cum can be found on both of them. Mark moans weakly. 

After a shared shower (and round, what, three?), Jongin naturally announces that he has a present for Mark. It comes in a red, rectangular box, but Jongin insists they get cozy in bed before he opens it. 

“I want to listen to your songs, too, while you open it.” Jongin gives Mark those irresistible puppy dog eyes that have Mark reaching for his phone immediately. It makes Mark feel like he’s the one spoiling Jongin, not the other way around. 

Jongin snuggles up against him briefly, dropping kisses against his cheek, his neck. He barely moves more than a foot away, but to Mark, the distance is still a palpable drop in warmth he wants back. 

“Open the box now.” 

Though Mark’s heart doesn’t race when he opens gifts (not anymore, at least), he never gets tired of how Jongin watches him with rapt attention, studying his body language. It’s a strain on Mark’s already mediocre acting ability. Of course, he’s always thankful, but it’s difficult to get gift after gift and never receive what you truly want. 

This gift, though, has his heart pounding and cheeks blushing. Inside the red box is a lingerie set in matching red, not made of lace, but of silk straps. And there’s two.

“One for you... and one for me,” Jongin kisses the shell of Mark’s ear. One arm is looped around Mark’s shoulder, the other one his waist, so that Jongin’s envelopes his entire back like a cozy blanket. 

“Oh my god,” Mark groans. “I think you gave my dick vertigo.” 

The sound of Jongin’s laugh reverberates through his skull, the noise deep and beautiful. “Yeah? You like the thought of me dressed up for you?” 

“Do I—of course I do. Nini, have you seen yourself?” Mark holds up the red straps, thinking about how perfect they would look against Jongin’s tan skin, like a summer sunset. “Fuck, if I could get hard again, I would.” 

Jongin giggles as he pulls them into bed and under the covers. Over the past months, how long has Mark spent in this bed? It has to have been days, at this point. 

“I’m looking forward to the 17th.” Mark nearly doesn’t hear Jongin, too focused on the pleasant way the other is stroking his back. Every so often he’ll go over a bruise and send shivers down Mark’s spine. 

“Mmmh, why’s that?” Mark murmurs into the pillow as he burrows closer to Jongin for warmth. Off the top of his head he can’t remember any outstanding events in Jongin’s calendar. Besides, sleep feels so close he can nearly taste it. Today was a good day—he doesn’t even feel bad about the gifts. 

Jongin’s hand stalls; that should have tipped Mark off, had him bracing himself. 

“Oh,” is all Jongin says. “It’s just—it’s our six month anniversary.” 

If Mark were on the verge of sleep before, he’s wide awake now. He pushes himself onto his elbow, then further onto his hip when he sees Jongin’s dejected look and eyes filled with an emotion that looks entirely out of place on him. Disappointed. Confusion. 

“I didn’t...” Mark chooses his words carefully, “I didn’t know that’s a thing we were doing.” 

“I thought it would be nice...” Jongin mumbles, trailing off. “Forget it.” 

“No, no!” Mark scrambles. “We totally can. What did you have in mind? Did you want to go out to dinner at that place?” 

The suggestion is a bit hopeful, but an anniversary celebration is a big step. This might finally be his moment. 

It’s not.

“Er, that’s not a good idea.” Jongin bites his lip, as he always does when he’s extra nervous about something. “The new Gucci campaign comes out the week before, and I’m in some shots with Harry Styles that are kind of out there. There’ll be a lot of attention on me then.” 

“Oh.” It’s Mark’s turn to be disappointed. “That’s fine. I only thought—”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up. It was inappropriate. I know we’re not—”

_Like that._

Fuck, that stings. 

“Hey,” Mark tries to muster up a smile. He takes Jongin’s hand in his and tightens. “We can do something here. It’ll be fun.”

Yeah, as long as Mark ignores the ache in his chest, things will be fine.

-

Things aren’t fine. 

Mark should be happy—Jongin thinking about their _anniversary_ is more than he could have hoped for. But somehow, the joy tastes bitter and ashy in his mouth. Mark feels the same way he did when Jongin didn’t contest them being boyfriends: elated and confused beyond all hell. 

He feels like he’s getting the short end of the stick. Jongin dictates the terms of their relationship, and it’s Jongin who doesn’t want to be seen outside of his apartment with Mark. What were those times at the ballet and with Baekhyun, then? Flukes? Or just moments Jongin decided, arbitrarily, it was ok? 

The feeling won’t escape Mark, not the entire week leading up to the 17th. He tries to distract himself with school, with trying to find a present for Jongin (would it be weird to buy a gift for someone with their own black card? Probably—Mark buys him a Polaroid camera and a scrapbook). 

“This is getting pathetic my dude, I have to say,” Yangyang tells him after they’ve both come back from the bar. “You’re going over there in a few days to celebrate your _anniversary_ and you haven’t DTR’d?” 

“What the fuck do you mean by DTR?”

“Define-the-relationship, man. You’re the native speaker, please.” 

“It’s complicated!” Mark whines. It sounds petulant even to his own ears. Yangyang is right—this is getting beyond ridiculous. It’s just been impossible for Mark to get the right words out of his mouth. The _moment_ is never right.

“Of course the moment’s never right.” Yangyang rolls his eyes. “I don’t get how you let him treat you like this.”

“He treats me fine,” Mark snaps. Although Yangyang isn’t saying Mark hasn’t thought himself, he still feels viciously defensive of Jongin. “Better than fine.” 

“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t let him have it both ways. Just talk to him.” 

Mark says nothing. They both know Yangyang is right. His silence speaks volumes.

“If I were you, I’d get it sorted _before_ the big day. Now stop looking so sorry for yourself and go to bed.”

“Love you...” Mark calls out across the gap. 

“Love you too, moron.” 

In the end, Yangyang’s late-night speech was the push Mark’s been looking for. He goes over to Jongin’s apartment the next day. It’s the afternoon, because on Fridays he doesn’t have any real class. The beauty of (dating? Seeing? Fucking?) a model is that they, too, don’t have a conventional schedule. 

Jongin’s apartment gets the best natural light, too. Mark always wants to curl up like a cat in front of the view when he’s there. 

“I didn’t expect to see you until the 17th,” Jongin says at the door, kissing Mark like nothing in the world is wrong. If only Jongin would kiss him with such light happiness outside of these walled confines. 

“I wanted to see you,” Mark says into the kiss. “I also wanted to talk to you.” 

Jongin replies with a noncommittal noise that comes from the base of his throat. If Mark’s words concern him at all, he doesn’t show it in his body language. It’s almost as if Jongin isn’t paying complete attention to him, and that fear has been growing inside Mark like a malignant tumor. 

“Let me make you a latte. Come sit down at the island.” 

Mark watches Jongin buzz around the kitchen, fixing him an almond milk latte with his professional quality coffee machine he got sent over directly from France. As he studies Jongin’s back, he realizes this is his last chance to bite his tongue. 

“Our anniversary—” He stumbles over the syllables. “Has me thinking about, uh, us. We’ve been doing this—thing—for six months now—”

Jongin slides a steamy, frothy mug over to him. He leans over across the island, a sparkle in his eye. “It’s been a great six months, hasn’t it?” 

“The best, yeah,” Mark finds himself answering. It’s not a lie, but it’s not helping his point, either. Jongin doesn’t realize it, doesn’t do it consciously, but he’s so good at disarming people. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression or anything. The past months have been great. _More_ than great, but—” 

“Have you met someone?” Jongin interrupts. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look heartbroken, either. “I’ll understand if you have. I don’t want you to feel like you have an obligation towards me.” 

“Would you listen to me?” Mark snaps. He doesn’t think before he says it, and it comes out appropriately abrasive. “Have _you_ met someone?” Oh fuck, this is not how Mark wanted this to go. Not even a little. But he can feel the panic ramping up inside him. This is what he gets for keeping it repressed for so long. Jongin looks confused, so Mark clarifies. “I saw those pictures of you with Taemin Lee at fashion week.” 

Jongin’s mouth twists into an ugly shape; Mark hate’s he’s the one who caused it. He opens his mouth to reply, but Mark barrels through him. 

“I thought you would say something so we could be safe, but you never did and I never asked. But fuck, should I get tested?

“I’m not sleeping with Taemin, Mark. I would like to think you of all people wouldn’t believe rumors.” He sounds so annoyed, the same as when it’s early and he’s talking to his manager about a schedule problem. 

“ _Me_ of all people? I know what you look like when you want to fuck someone, Jongin.” Mark snaps. His hands close around the mug and it’s too hot to be gripping like this, but in its own way the pain is comforting. “And how am I supposed to understand when you don’t even let me outside of this apartment!”

If Jongin wasn’t paying attention to him before, then he definitely is now. As always, the full blunt force of Jongin’s gaze is intense, and it only serves to accelerate Mark’s growing panic. 

“I don’t like it when you simplify things like that,” Jongin says quietly. “Especially when you know the situation is more complicated. How do you think it makes me feel? We _agreed_ , Mark. The purpose of agreements is for everyone to be on the same page.”

“Yeah, well, maybe things have changed. Maybe I’ve changed.”

“What, Mark? Talk to me,” Jongin says, gentler now.

“Sometimes I feel so dirty around you,” Mark confesses. “I’m not sure—I’m not sure you actually care about me. Do you _like_ keeping me around as a secret only you can enjoy?” 

That wounds Jongin. “How could you even _say_ that?” he hisses, raw. 

“Am I too much for you?” Mark blurts out. The words are out in the world before he can stop them, and he desperately wishes to claw them back into his mouth. Now that he’s started, however, it’s his only chance to see it through. “Are you.. Are you ashamed of me? Is it too much pressure for you to deal with me if everyone knows? Because you treat me like your boyfriend, and you let Baekhyun _call_ me your boyfriend, but we still sneak around. It’s really fucking confusing me.” 

“Oh baby,” Jongin says, so soft it hurts. He tries to wrap Mark up in a hug but he ducks out of it, backs off out of Jongin’s reach. If he lets Jongin hold him now, all his confidence will disappear, surely. 

This is awful. Just last week they were having perfect, lazy sex in bed, Jongin grinding his dick into Mark’s ass, still a little wet and loose from the night before. They’d both tugged their underwear down just enough for it to be skin-on-skin, and Mark was so sensitive he could have cried from how good it was. 

Now they’re arguing. Now they’re—breaking up? 

Can you even break up if you never were together? If all you had was an _agreement?_

“That’s not a _no,_ ” Mark insists. “I feel—I feel like I’m a toy to you, and I didn’t sign up for that. Maybe I got greedy or whatever, but I’m not here to be your virtual boyfriend that you can turn on and off whenever it’s convenient.” 

“Please don’t put words in my mouth,” Jongin narrows his eyes. Anger is such an unfamiliar emotion on him. Good. It’s about time Mark sees it. “I can’t believe you came in here spewing shit about Taemin before our anniversary. Acting like you know everything and him and I, just like those gossip magazine hags.”

“Oh yeah, the anniversary you care so much about. Is it more like you want to reward yourself for keeping me around for so long. Congrats! You managed to keep your pet alive for six months. Here’s some kinky sex as a reward. You don’t get to _decide_ to care about our anniversary, because those are for people in real relationships, which you just made clear isn’t the case.”

“I still can’t believe you’re somehow under the impression I don’t care about you. How could you even insinuate that, after everything I’ve done? Unbelievable, honestly.” 

Deep within him, Mark doesn’t believe everything he’s saying. But he believes enough of it. 

“You care about me as your whore. Your baby,” he sneers. If a whore is what Jongin wants, then a whore’s what he’ll get. “You think your money can solve every problem, because rich asshole like you don’t know any better.” 

Mark charges at Jongin and kisses him with a violent force so alien to them. Even though they play with dominance all the time, they’re still both gentle sorts. There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, a clash of teeth and tongue and battle for control. Mark pulls Jongin down by his neck, makes him come down to his level. 

“This isn’t a good idea,” Jongin pants. 

“I don’t care.” 

They push and dance their way into the bedroom, where upon entrance clothes come off at a rapid clip. Mark is desperate to get Jongin naked, and today, he’s not going to hold back when he comes to marking up Jongin’s skin. He suckles and bites into the sensitive skin of Jongin’s stomach, his hip bones, even the soft places of his inner thighs. 

But then it's Jongin’s turn, and he’s pushing Mark onto his back to return the favor. He makes Mark jerk him off with his hand without giving any pleasure back of his own. This is the game’s being played. 

“Fuck me, fuck me,” Mark demands. “Make it hurt, do it.” 

They just use spit, and getting fucked hurts beyond a normal burn. In Jongin’s eyes the anger read clear, but behind that, there’s hesitation, too. If Mark said his safeword, there’s no doubt Jongin would back off. 

Mark won’t be doing anything like that. 

“You can’t even give me the fuck I want,” Mark hisses. He’s got more vitriol lined up, but Jongin slams a hand against his mouth to shut him up, at the same time cutting off most of Mark’s oxygen supply in a way that makes his vision blue at the edges. 

“How am I supposed to know, huh?” Jongin punctuates each word with a sharp grunt and a thrust. “Mark Lee, comes in like a mystery and gives me all I want but keeps his true motives hidden.” 

_True motives, hah,_ Mark thinks because he can’t open his mouth to say it. _Rich coming from you._

“I never should have trusted you.” 

Those words feel like a punch to the chest. It’s the heat of the moment, and Mark can’t be sure they’re true, because god knows he’s just said some vile shit of his own he doesn’t believe. But Jongin might as well have just said he never loved Mark. 

Mark bites at Jongin’s palm, wraps his legs around his waist. Jongin pounding into him is good, but being under his weight, in the past so comforting, feels suffocating. Using as much momentum as he can gather, Mark rolls them until their positions are flipped. 

Once he gets his feet under him, he rides Jongin without mercy. Jongin’s dick drills into him, Mark’s ass and Jongin’s pelvis slapping together each time with an obscene _slap._ Mark’s going to be so sore tomorrow, he may not be able to walk. But that doesn’t matter, because all he wants now is the hurt. 

“God, you make me feel like such an idiot.”

With his two fingers, Mark reaches down and pinches both of Jongin’s nipples. The older man’s snarls turn to moans almost immediately. Mark huffs out a laugh. He’s won, he knows. Jongin will definitely come before him, and then Mark will ride him past his orgasm until either he comes himself of Jongin calls him off.

Mark’s angry, but not cruel. 

Jongin’s entire stomach flexes when the buildup to his orgasm is reaching its peak. It’s only now that Mark peaks a look at his face. Jongin bites his lip so hard that it will surely be bruised an angry purple. Everytime Mark rises and falls, another moan is punched out of his chest. When he tries to hold onto Mark, the younger slaps the hands away. 

“Do it,” Mark goades. “Use me if that’s all I’m good for.” 

Jongin comes, crying out. Mark does allow himself to relish the feeling of hot release fill him up. Even wound so tight, this part still feels amazing. 

Jongin lifts Mark—literally—up and off. It’s so surprising Mark doesn’t have time to fight back, because if he did, he’d certainly be kicking and screaming. Jongin’s stolen his orgasm from him because he’s being an asshole, a selfish prick who only thinks about himself. 

“If you want to come, then ride my thigh.” Mark glares daggers at him, although it can’t be terribly effective with the flush he has going on. “If you’re going to act like a whore, then come like a whore.”

At first, Mark sits on Jongin’s thigh like a good boy, the boy he was just yesterday. He tries to imagine Jongin’s not there, but it’s hard when they’re face to face, even when Mark clenches his eyes shut. There’s still the vice-like grip of Jongin’s hands bruising his waist and Jongin’s broad shoulders under his palms. 

Mark hates it, would rather be getting fucked instead of feeling so empty, but he loves the way his dick and balls feel sliding along Jongin’s beautiful thigh. Mark loves the grit, and having to work for it, and this orgasm is nothing if not hard work. It’s just barely enough friction between the sweat and lube, but he knows he can get off like this.

“Color?” Mark knows the hand on his jawline means Jongin wants him to look, but fuck, Mark is pissed off and so close. Screw Jongin that he chooses to be so caring even in this moment.

“Fuck you, green,” he spits. Instead, he places both hands on Jongin’s chest and pushes _hard,_ until Jongin is falling backwards onto the bed with a surprised yelp. 

The hard bone of Jongin’s shin is nearly painful against Mark’s dick, but that’s also exactly what’s working for him. In this change of position he has complete power over Jongin’s body, for once, and the rush of power lights up his insides. 

In the hazy distance of Mark’s mind, he can hear Jongin calling out for him, maybe trying to sit up and reach for him, but Mark answers with a growl. He knows Jongin wants to turn the switch, he wants to be soft and apologetic now, probably so they can come at the same time because Jongin thinks that’s romantic, and they’ll come down together. But that’s not what Mark wants, and right now, he’s making it all about him. 

As long as Jongin doesn’t call him off, doesn’t change his color, Mark plans on seeing this through. He’s too far gone to not. And if Jongin _does,_ then he’s also not sure he’ll be able to hold back the torrent of tears welling up behind his eyelids. 

They don’t speak. The only sounds in the room are the rhythmic squeaks of the bed and Mark’s harsh pants, let out through gritted teeth. He doesn’t even look at Jongin. He doesn’t want to know what the pity surely being leveled at him looks like. It’s not the portrait of Jongin’s face he wants to remember when all this comes to an end. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Mark chants. He grips Jongin’s knee with one hand, hard enough to leave little half-moon indents dug into the skin. With his eyes screwed so tightly shut, there’s nothing put the pain and the pleasure rattling around in his mind. 

The orgasm building in the pit of his gut feels tighter than he can ever remember one being. When he comes, he shoots across Jongin’s shin and knee. Afterwards he’s too exhausted to even move, so he just collapses his head down on that knee, cum and all. He opens his eyes and studies the wet patterns the lube and sweat have made against the sheets. 

Because all of his bones feel like jello, he can only protest weakly when Jongin moves to him. He has no idea if Jongin came or not. He doesn’t care. 

Two hands cup his cheeks. No. Mark shuts his eyes again, tries to pull away. 

“Mark, Mark!” Jongin tries. He sounds like he’s commanding an unruly dog to sit. Does Jongin think because he’s a supermodel he can treat Mark this way? That’s all Mark ever really was, wasn’t he? A dog. A toy.

Somewhere within him Mark finds the strength to get his legs moving again. It’s all momentum that carries him to the edge of the bed, adrenaline that lets him find his feet under him. May it persist until he’s out the door, out of the apartment, and safety in the backseat of an uber. There he’ll be able to break down in peace. It will probably be the last one he’ll be alone in for a while—he’ll have to start taking pools again. 

“Baby, what’s going on? Talk to me.” Jongin sounds so confused. Even that tiny amount of softness has Mark’s resolve crumbling at the edges and he has to wipe the tears furiously away from his eyes just to get his clothes back on. 

“I need a break,” Mark admits. He fell too deep, too fast, when he had no right to. Now he’s suffering the consequences, not just of the initial drop, but of every other bad decision along the way. He needs to go on a detox, get Jongin out of his system. 

He wishes he weren’t such a coward and could look Jongin in the eyes. There’s a pregnant moment of silence where neither of them move or speak, and when it passes, Mark resumes collecting his things. 

“Don’t go,” Jongin says suddenly, sounding so delicate and unsure. Raw. In disbelief. “I want you to stay, please. I didn’t know we wouldn’t be ok after that. I thought.... I thought we’d fuck and be ok. I want us to be, please.” In movies, this is what the character is waiting for. They’re leaving, but secretly, they’re dying to be asked to stay. 

But—

“I have to.” Mark _is_ truly sorry. He’s like to go over to Jongin and kiss the tears staining his perfect face away, but it’s about time he started listening to his head over his heart. He wants to promise it will be temporary, but he can’t guarantee anything. All he knows is that tomorrow, he’s going to regret this. He already does. 

If he could, he would promise Jongin the moon and stars. 

“Bye, Jongin.” He speaks over the sound of sniffles. 

Mark pauses when he hits the sidewalk, lung filled with an aching pain. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to move, it hurts to think. He can’t get the sound of Jongin crying when he left out of his head. 

But then someone walking by clips his shoulder, and suddenly, Mark is jerked back to the present. Oh, yeah. He’s Mark Lee, 20 years old, in New York City. People on the street flow around him, the birds are flying, the cars are honking up a storm. He can’t stand here being sad in front of Jongin’s apartment forever—New York won’t let him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently.

**May**

As soon as Mark’s anger fizzles out, he becomes miserable. That takes all of a week. 

Sure, he moped for a few days—what he was allowed. But with each passing day, his anger became more and more distant, like the roar of an airplane drifting further away into the pale. Now, after a week, he can hardly remember what set him off into such a torrent of anger and destruction in the first place. 

He was stupid, and overreacted, and now he just wants to crawl back to Jongin and _beg._

That’s impossible though, at least for the time being. Yes, even Mark has some pride left to lose. Probably the only good decision he made that night was telling Jongin he wanted a break. It hurts, _fuck_ does it hurt, but for months Mark allowed Jongin to occupy an oppressive amount of space in his head, and now, Mark has room to breathe. 

It’s good for him, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

Mark does what any miserable person would do—pours all of his time into other projects, namely his final video assignment. There’s this idea that’s been kicking around in his head for a while, something about the different roles he’s played throughout his life. Good Korean son, Queens native, immigrant, lover, friend, brother. His plan is to synthesize all of them, give them motifs in the multimedia space he’s working in—music, video, editing—and go from there. 

When Mark pitches this plan to Chris and Yangyang, their eyes open wide with curiosity, and then they’re throwing in ideas of their own. Uplifting the better of Mark’s concepts, and challenging the worst. 

He’s blessed, really, and not in the tacky sense of the word, to have friends like them around him. Otherwise, even to a native, New York would swallow him whole. 

Because Mark spent most of the semester thinking with his dick instead of his brain, he needs to cram most of the work for the project into the last few weeks of the period. The semester ends midway through May, and so by the time the first of the month hits, he’s barely got two weeks to finish everything on top of the rest of his finals. 

Never in his life has he been so stressed, but honestly, he learns he’s good under pressure. He has a plan, a vision, and the tools to make it happen. All that can get in his way are the barriers of hours in the day. Let’s _go._

Chris and Yangyang have their own projects to work on, and besides, this one feels so personal to Mark, he doesn’t want them around for most of it. He records the video through digging through archives he gets from Johnny and by shooting B-reel riding around on his skateboard. The one that Jongin gave him. Oh yeah. 

Subtle reminders of the man are everywhere. Mark spent a lot of time with him, but he hadn’t realized how far Jongin managed to dig himself into the fabric of his everyday life. He’s in where his clothes are from, how he gets around the city, his coffee order. The day Mark first came back from Jongin’s like a hurricane, he ripped the Black Card from his wallet and put it on his desk with every intention of snipping it into pieces. 

But he couldn’t do it. It’s still there, weeks later, collecting dust.

It’s not the value of the thing—Mark hardly used it, anyways. It’s what it represents, instead. If Mark destroys the card, then the thing between him and Jongin isn’t just time off. It makes it more permanent, and Mark doesn’t want that. He wants them to still be ok, somehow. He hasn’t thought through how to actually make that happen.

After the first few days, Jongin sent him a stack of texts, all of which Mark forced himself to ignore. 

_Can you come by so we can talk?_

_Baby, I want you to come back._

_I miss you._

_I said some horrible things and I feel awful about it._

_Mark, I don’t think ignoring me like this is healthy._

_I don’t want this to be the end of us._

Ok—that last one Mark _did_ reply to. Just a simple, unadorned _I need time._ Since then, Jongin’s left him alone, though every day longer of silence wears Mark down that much more. But it does show him something, something important. Jongin’s respecting his boundaries, which he’s always done in the bedroom, but not much in Mark’s personal life. 

That’s what he chooses to believe, at least. There’s still that wicked part of him whispering the worst-case scenario in his head— _Jongin realized he doesn’t need you, doesn’t want you anymore. Already he’s probably called up Taemin and is in bed where you should be. He’ll never talk to you again._

Of course, he has no reason to believe any of that is true, but when has he ever _needed_ a reason? Those thoughts still linger, a malignant spectre in the back of his mind while he tries to focus on imperialist philosophy. 

Right when Mark’s finishing up his project, though, and two major exams are right around the corner, he gets proof that they’re not true at all. It comes in the form of Lucas. For once, he comes to visit Mark on campus; he’s been so busy, the only option for his friends is for them to come to _him._ But it’s exciting for Lucas, who never went to college, and thinks that the dark edit labs are an exciting field trip. 

When Mark first sees Lucas, he’s dying to interrogate him. He _knows_ Lucas must know at least some details on how Jongin’s doing, _what_ he’s doing. But at first, Lucas doesn’t offer, and Mark restrains himself from asking. Instead, he walks Lucas through his project with oohs and aahs coming from the model, then shows him a thing or two about editing. It’s one of Mark’s favorite things about Lucas: how he’s genuinely interested in everything. 

After that, Mark allows himself to be pulled away to the Thai place on the corner. It’s 8pm, he hasn’t eaten dinner, and slept all of three hours last night. “You need a break, man,” Lucas insists. “Don’t work yourself to death.” 

Apparently Lucas’ mother is Thai, and says that although places like this hardly resemble authentic food at all, he’s developed a taste for the gentrified versions. Hey, crab rangoons are really delicious. Everyone can get on board with that. 

“Sometimes I wish I went to school,” Lucas says through a mouthful of noodles. 

“No way man,” Mark laughs. “It’s not all that. Maybe it looks cool sometimes but it’s a lot of work. Being a model must be much better.”

Lucas shrugs. “I don’t think you believe that.” 

That catches Mark off-guard. _Does_ he think being a student is better than being a model? He’s never thought too much about it, but there is the air of how modeling and being famous is just _so much_ better than being a normal nobody like Mark. But now that he’s really thinking about it, he’s been so resistant to some of the best parts of wealth. Connections. Skipping the hard parts of life. 

“You’re kind of a glutton for pain and work,” Lucas says. It sounds blaise coming from his mouth, like this is just a _fact_ about Mark. Well, it kind of is. He does like those things. “Not that being famous isn’t hard but... you’re a proud guy, Mark. You kind of snapped at me when I offered to help you.” 

“Did I?” Mark winces. He hadn’t even realized. He thought himself a collaborative kind of person, but he did suppose there was a big difference between getting help on his own project and making something together from the get-go. 

“It’s cool, it didn't hurt me. I didn’t think you realized.” 

“Fuck, am I really like that?” 

“It’s not bad. Americans like ambition, don’t they? You just want to do everything yourself.” 

Mark slurps at his Thai iced tea. He was definitely not prepared to be hit with a truth bomb like that over a late dinner. Outside, a police siren blares down the street, the red and blue lights splashes a kaleidoscope of color across the dark street. 

“Is ‘break’ American slang for ‘breaking up?’” Lucas asks, no hint of shyness or trepidation in his voice. He approaches the elephant in the room head-on. 

“No, it’s short term,” Mark says. It’s getting increasingly difficult for him to look Lucas in the eye. Does he really _want_ to talk about this? Not really, but Lucas will be his best source of information. 

“So you _do_ plan on talking to Jongin again!” Lucas says happily, a little triumphant. “I told him!” 

Wait, wait, wait, so Lucas _has_ been actively talking to Jongin! And apparently giving him advice just like how he’s doing to Mark right now. Man, they’re two idiots who don’t deserve Lucas one bit. 

Mark wants to jump across the table and demand Lucas tell him everything he knows. Instead, he asks, “how’s he been?” 

“You know how you’ve been working nonstop and running yourself into the ground?” 

“Ok, you didn’t need to come after me like that.” 

“Sure I did. What I mean is that Jongin’s been the opposite of that. He’s been moping. I heard from Baekhyun that his manager is about to lose his mind. He doesn’t leave at all unless it’s _really_ important.”

Mark’s heart plummets. He didn’t dare to think about how Jongin’s been doing, but he never would have imagined he was doing _that bad._ Jongin’s not like that. He’s bright, positive, dedicated. He’s a star. 

Mark’s so stupid. He deserves a medal for being the dumbest motherfucker in New York. Hiding in your apartment isn’t the behavior of someone who doesn’t care. That’s someone who’s had their heart broken. 

“I didn’t—I didn’t think he would take it that bad,” he mumbles. He’s feeling shittier by the second, and he’s almost ashamed to be talking about this with Yukhei at all. 

“What I think man, you needed to do something for you. It’s ok to do that.” It’s amazing how Lucas just sit so casually across the table and talk about things like this, all while scarfing down mouthfuls of noodles. It’s admirable; Mark wishes he saw the world more like how Lucas did. 

“Hey man,” Mark says. He shoots the other a lopsided smile. “Not to get all gay and all, but I’m happy I’ve got you as a friend.” 

Lucas nearly chokes with how hard he laughs. 

“You too, man! You’re like, the coolest person I know! And I know a lot of cool people.” 

“Thanks, Lucas.”

“No problem. So, are you gonna call Jongin?” 

This is a thought Mark allows himself to sit on, and Lucas doesn’t rush the answer. “No,” he decides. “Not yet. Once I finish my projects and exams, then I’ll have a clear head. I’ll talk to him after that.” 

Lucas beams. “I’m proud of you dude. Look at you, making such good life choices.” 

“Fuck knows I’m trying.” 

In the end, Mark never calls Jongin. Not because the other isn’t on his mind, but because he’s never given the chance. When he goes into his philosophy final, his last one, everything is normal. When he emerges two hours later with a mild hand cramp, campus is abuzz and he has a stack of texts from his friends. 

_Dude. DUDE!!!!_ from Yangyang; 

_Check @nyucelebsightings rn,_ from Chris;

And _uhhhhhh this was not my idea,_ from Lucas, the most alarming of them all. 

Ok, Mark’s worried. Even in the hallway some girls are whispering, and Mark hears one of them say the name that’s been haunting all of Mark’s thoughts. 

_“Did you hear that Kai Kim is on campus?”_

Twitter is popping off—a few scrolls through the Kai Kim tag gives Mark a nearly complete picture: Jongin appeared on campus an hour and a half ago, visiting and sweet-talking his way into different campus buildings, including the student center where he ordered a frappuccino, apparently. Jongin loves sweet shit like that. 

He asked some random, starstruck students about living in the dorms, and in particular, about the music production program. 

One of the tweets just reads: _KOLO??????_

What is Mark’s stomach doing? Jumping jacks. Cartwheels. Jongin is so close now he can nearly smell his expensive, organic cologne. But it’s also terrifying, because Jongin is here, on campus, out in public. After having lamented for months about being kept a secret, Mark doesn’t want a grand reveal. He’s not ready for it. He wants to hit the rewind button.

He wants everything to go back to the way it was before. It’s the wrong thing to want, it’s stupid, but that’s how much he misses Jongin. 

The bathroom at the end of the hallway is mercifully empty, allowing Mark to duck into one of the stalls and press his forehead against the cool metal, grounding him for the moment, allowing him to ignore how his phone is burning a hole in his pocket. 

The screen, now empty of notifications, is threatening. Mark feels something press tight in his chest as he runs his thumb over it mindlessly. Waiting. Who will be the first to reach out? 

The phone unlocks and Jongin’s contact is open before Mark can put enough brain cells together to consider the consequences.. He wonders if Jongin is doing the exact same thing somewhere else on campus. He’s here for Mark—there’s no doubting that. 

Mark’s not mad. His heart is racing, but it’s excitement that pumps through his veins instead of blood. When he told Jongin he needed time, the other man respected that. And he’s pushing the boundaries of that request, but not infringing on it. He’s made himself available for Mark; it’s his choice whether to make the connection. 

Jongin picks up before the second ring. Though he doesn’t say anything for a long, pregnant few moments, Mark knows he’s there from the unsteady breathing on the other end of the line. Like Jongin can hardly believe this is happening. God knows Mark feels the same way. 

_“Hi,”_ Jongin says at last, terribly unsure but oh-so gentle. 

“Hi,” Mark breathes out. He sags against the stall wall. His frayed nerves already feel soothed by Jongin’s honey voice. 

_“Where are you right now?”_

“In a bathroom.” Jongin laughs. “Where are _you?”_

 _“I—”_ Jongin pauses. Mark can hear that he’s pulled away from the receiver. He must be reprimanding himself for coming onto campus. It’s nice to know that Jongin feels shame for it, but it also fills Mark with a vicious kind of joy knowing that he did it anyways. _“I know you said you needed space. Time to think. But Baekhyun said—I realized that you probably wouldn’t feel comfortable coming back to my apartment. So I wanted to come to you. In your... space. Fuck I should have thought this through better. More than anything I just want to say sorry.”_

 _I forgive you,_ Mark wants to say. _I’m sorry, too._

He holds his tongue. 

“I want to see you,” he says instead. He doesn’t trust that the right words will come out in person—in fact, he’ll probably lose half his brain function as soon as he lays eyes on Jongin—but it feels wrong to do this over the phone. Jongin came to him for a reason.

And Mark is desperate to see him, too. 

_“Just tell me where.”_

Mark’s mind races with places. It’s not like he can get Jongin into the dorms without anyone seeing, or that they can hash things out over Starbucks in the student union. But maybe—

“The production building. I’ll send you the address and floor. Someone will let you in.” Mark is already typing a message to Chris. 

_“I’ll see you soon.”_ And then just before Mark thinks Jongin’s about to hang up— _“I’ve missed you, Mark.”_

Oh. Is that Mark’s stomach? In his throat? 

He sprints to the production building, launches himself up the stairs two at a time to secure one of the private editing bays. With the majority of final deadlines already passed, there’s hardly anyone around. The perfect place for them to meet. 

_Target is on his way up,_ Chris texts not two minutes after Mark gets there, like this is some kind of movie. No, Mark’s life is too ridiculous to be a movie. Nobody would believe it. He’s got just enough time to stop panting and maybe not be beet red in the face. _Good luck_. 

God, he’s so not ready for this. All the time in the world wouldn’t prepare him. But now the door’s opening, and Mark feels like a deer caught in the headlights, and suddenly Jongin is there in front of him in the _flesh_ —

“Say it again,” Mark blurts out. Jongin stops dead, the door not even fully closed. Anyone could hear them, could see. It doesn’t matter. “Say it again. What you said on the phone.” 

Jongin breaks into a beautiful smile. “Oh. I really, really missed you. I wanted to see you and talk to you every day.” 

Their chests may collide in an awkward way, but Mark is so overwhelmed with the need to be close to Jongin that he crashes into him, damn the consequences. He’s rewarded when Jongin wraps him right up in a tight hug. It feels so good to be held like this again, even if Jongin is squeezing hard enough to strain Mark’s lungs. 

“I’ve missed you so much, too,” Mark says in Jongin’s ear, and it doesn’t sound like a dirty confession. Jongin’s whole body shudders. 

Unfortunately, they can’t stay like this forever, and reluctantly, Mark has to back away. Like he predicted, it’s hard to form coherent thoughts when he’s breathing in the smell of Jongin’s aftershave. 

“I didn’t mean any of it,” Mark says, all in a rush. 

“I know. Me neither.” Jongin says. “I never want to fight again.” 

“I know. Me, too.” 

It’s unrealistic, impossible. But it’s a nice promise, isn’t it? 

“I’m going to be more conscious of how I treat you,” Jongin says seriously. “I took you for granted—and before you say that’s ok, Mark, it’s really not. I can do better by you.” His hand twitches, like he wants to hold onto Mark’s. He reaches out to complete the silent request, so that they’re connected. 

“You’re not a bad person,” Mark says. “I hate thinking that I made you think you are. I didn’t realize how hard it would be. The sneaking around, the secrets. It got to me.”

This brings up something uncomfortable in Jongin’s expression. “I dragged you into something you weren’t prepared for.” He smiles ruefully. “Of all the things, a public relationship is one of the only things I can’t give you.” Mark’s face must fall, some emotion he was holding back, because Jongin rushes to continue, “Even if we don’t go public, that doesn’t change how I feel about you. You’re still so important to me.” 

“I get it. I don’t know if I’m ready either, to be honest. But where does that leave us now? It was the uncertainty that got to me. I’ve realized that.” 

“I should have been clearer. Fuck Mark, I made so many mistakes I’m surprised you made it so far. I wouldn’t have put up with me.”

“Shut up, don’t talk about yourself that way. You’re great Jongin, I mean it.”

Jongin, truly, blushes. “Can we—can we go back to how we were? Not exactly—” he rushes to say “—because I’ll treat you such much better, but god Mark, I miss you so fucking much.” 

“So do I.” Mark feels himself trembling, a slow build up that begins in his fingertips. He’s itching to get back into Jongin’s arms. Behind closed doors or not, as Mark has learned, that’s infinitely better than nothing.

Mark should be using this opportunity to redo the terms, to change things. They might just end up repeating the same mistakes. But none of that seems to matter when he has Jongin in front of him again, so open, so loving, so desperate for Mark. He wants. He _wants_. 

“Let’s get back—together,” Mark says, not even sure if that’s the correct word. But the relief in Jongin’s face is so palpable it nearly knocks Mark over. 

“Is this room soundproofed? Because I could scream right now.” Jongin looks at him from under his eyelashes. “You really want me back?” 

“Nini,” Mark says. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I want you back.” 

“I’m going to die if you don’t kiss me right now,” Jongin groans. They meet someplace in the middle, by the fancy editing chair that they collapse into, together. 

-

The heat hits Mark fully in the face the moment he steps off the plane, catching him off guard. Don’t let anyone tell you New York can’t get hot, but this is nothing less than _tropical._ It hits Mark that he’s really here, somewhere in Mexico that he can’t pronounce, no thanks to his 6th grade Spanish class. 

On the first flight, the one going cross-country, they drank champagne in first class, Jongin clinking his glass against Mark’s in a cheers. It felt good to be able to close himself off to the world in the little pod, even better to stretch out on the nearly six-hour flight. But it was the _best_ to have been able to reach across the divider and hold hands with Jongin openly without fearing if someone sees. 

From Mexico City they’d taken a tiny plane, one that terrified Mark, to a tiny resort town somewhere along the coast, the kind of place that wouldn’t even exist if rich tourists weren’t interested in going there. The plane, as Jongin pitched it to him only a week ago, was to relax there for several days and do nothing but lay on the beach, drink, and fuck, in whatever order they pleased. 

Oh, and to meet up with Lee Taemin. 

From where he’s waiting for Mark on the tarmac, Jongin beams back up at him. He looks breathtaking in the summer sun, even more than usual, the brightness of the sun glimmering against his tan skin. Mark can only imagine with excited anticipation to see what he’ll look like after a day at the beach. He’s wearing some kind of straw Panama hat, something that should look cheesy but on Jongin instead looks absolutely charming. 

Mark looks out of place in his baggy tee and Jansport, but what’s new? At this point, he’s used to it, and he’s proud that it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it once did. 

His hand feels secure in Jongin’s. Like it belongs— _he_ belongs. 

Jongin first proposed a vacation over a breakfast of protein shakes and chocolate chip banana pancakes (Mark made the shakes—that’s about as far as his skills in the kitchen go). Things between them haven’t immediately gone back to the way they were before, and Mark is trying to allow himself to accept that they might never. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily, but different. 

Jongin angled it as a celebration. 

“For Columbia Records!” He grinned. Mark had just heard back from an internship with _the_ Columbia, only one of the biggest record labels in the _world._ After months of hearing nothing, he woke up to an email in his inbox saying they wanted him for their summer internship program. 

Of course Mark said yes. A program like that was his dream. 

But there was something else, too, a lingering itch at the back of his mind that suggested perhaps Columbia hadn’t reached out based on the strength of his application alone. 

Jongin, naturally, had been ecstatic. It was the kind of opportunity Jongin was always hyping him up for, always insisting he deserved. 

And plus—

“It would be nice for us, wouldn’t it?” Jongin smiled hopefully from across the island. A tiny dot of chocolate clung to the side of his mouth, and without thinking, Mark reached his thumb and rubbed it away. He popped his thumb into his mouth, wiping the sweet chocolate clean. Jongin’s eyes stayed glued to him the whole time. “Somewhere private and relaxing?” 

Mark didn’t want to limit himself from the get-go by being skeptical. He would allow himself to be in the moment. “Yeah, it would be really nice. I bet you already have a place in mind, don’t you?”

Jongin’s mouth twitched. “Well... Taemin has this villa in Mexico. He feels so terrible about—um—that he wants us to come and visit. I know it’s not—er—but Taemin is really wonderful.” That’s as far as Jongin’s confidence took him. He mumbled the rest out underneath his breath. “I want all my important people to get along.” 

“Nini,” Mark said. Jongin perked right back up. Mark never used that nickname when he was mad. “I have nothing against Taemin. I never should have been mad. I want—I want us to put that behind us.”

“Good.” Jongin chews at his lip. “And you were so stressed because of school, and I wasn’t there to help you, and then you got the internship you wanted... so I thought it would be nice. To reward you.” 

Mark can’t help but smile. He could say that he doesn’t need Jongin to reward him, and it would be true. And the gifts can be overwhelming, sure, but they come from a well-meaning place. Jongin is desperately trying to show Mark how much he means to him, and this is just how he knows how. It’s sweet. Who else could possibly think of him this way? “I’m down. Take me to Mexico.” 

_“Baby,”_ Jongin squealed, and had hauled himself up and onto the island just so he could pull Mark into a chaste kiss. 

He might have spilled Mark’s shake across the counter, but it’s also how they’ve ended here in Mexico together, so he’s not going to hold a grudge. 

A black SUV, not entirely different from New York, takes them to the villa, set on a cliff overlooking the sea on the outskirts of the town. 

“Woah,” is all Mark can say on the approach. It’s hard to believe that places like this even exist in real life, and not just part of some movie set. 

“I know,” Jongin answers, just as in awe but even more pleased at Mark’s reaction. His hand curls pleasantly around the inside of Mark’s thigh. Not suggestive, but there. There will be plenty of time for that, later. “I’m so happy we’re here together.” 

“Me too— _holy_ , that’s the house?” 

The villa isn’t quite a home as it appears on the horizon, but a sprawling campus of low-lying stucco buildings, each accented with painted tiles, water features, and various plants. It looks like a hotel, not someone’s vacation home. It’s singlehandedly the most extravagant thing Mark has laid his eyes on to date, and the competition in that category is stiff. 

The sun has just tipped past afternoon, and a warm halo of light spills into the passenger side window. It blinds Mark, but when he blinks his eyes open, still a little watery, Jongin is gazing at _him_ like he’s the most spectacular thing on the horizon. 

_I love you_ , every one of Mark’s cells screams. It’s ok to not say it, he thinks, because as long as this feeling is so strong, if he holds onto Jongin’s hand, it’s powerful enough to be felt by the contact alone. 

This trip feels like a dream. It’s going to be hard when it’s over. 

As soon as the car pulls in front of what Mark can only assume is the front entrance, a thin figure is coming towards them in what only can be described as a quick prance. This is Lee Taemin, who Mark has seen everywhere from the news and the Wall Street Journal to Reddit memes. A few years ago he came to prominence when he invented a way to make cameras extremely efficient with Samsung, and has since become fabulously wealthy through mechanisms Mark can’t even hope to understand. 

Lee Taemin is a billionaire. Yeah, with a B. At 26, he’s one of the youngest ever.

He’s also very, very odd. His antics are some of the internet’s favorite gossip fodder, especially considering how heavily he leans into things, and how little he seems to care about what anyone thinks of him. When you were dealing with Lee Taemin, you were in his world. 

Taemin and Jongin make a pretty picture next to each other; this has been clear to Mark since months ago. They’ve got a harmony to them, and Mark’s mouth is acrid with jealousy. 

“We met at dance class when I was fourteen,” Jongin had told Mark. He showed him a photo of them, a hilarious bathroom selfie, where Jongin was lean and rocked a terrible, untamed swooshy haircut. They looked so similar in the image, as if there could have been twins. That’s mostly gone now, but there are similarities that still cling to them. 

Part of what makes Mark so jealous is that Jongin just looks so _happy_ hanging out with Taemin. Like he’s got no fears in the world. No trepidations, just years of trust and love. It’s the kind of thing Mark wants too, if only they would let each other in. 

The full brunt of Taemin’s attention is intimidating. He has an intense look to him, an otherworldly beauty and focus. But his mouth splits open into a smile when he looks at Mark. 

“You’re finally here!” Taemin shakes Mark by the shoulders. “In the flesh. I finally get to meet the person who’s been distracting my Jongin from me these past few months.” 

“No man, it’s me who’s excited,” Mark replies. Jongin watches their interactions with a proud smile. It must be satisfying for him to orchestrate like this. 

“You’re too find Mark. Please, welcome to my humble abode. Ah, who are we kidding, there's nothing humble about owning a cliffside mansion in Mexico. I know the outside is pretty, but would you like to see the rest?” 

Taemin is a whirlwind, with very strange taste in abstract erotic art. Mark doesn’t get it, but Jongin seems to have a much better appreciation of it. And the house is beyond spectacular, mixing the indoors and outdoors with a network of balconies and verandas, all smooth, golden sandstone. 

Jongin looks right at home here, among the warmth. 

They walk and talk, and Taemin gets them drinks from a two _hundred_ dollar bottle of whiskey. Mark honestly doesn’t even like whiskey, but he knows enough that when someone hands you a glass like that, you don’t turn it down. And as he drinks it, he finds himself enjoying Taemin’s company more and more. The easy camaraderie he has with Jongin is another point in his favor, because Jongin is the type to have acquaintances, not friends. 

It should go as no surprise that Taemin is immensely interested in photography. It’s what kickstarted his fortune, and apparently remains one of his favorite hobbies. “When I go to San Francisco next month,” Taemin flourishes his hand, “I’m going to embark on a study of men’s pores when they orgasm.” 

Mark tries to reply to that with a neutral but interested-sounding “hmmmmm.” Jongin stifles a laugh behind his hand. 

“Ah, Maplethorpe sunbaenim,” he jokes. Mark has no idea who that is. 

“Oh stop Nini,” Taemin laughs, pretending to blush. “You’re too much. This is too much praise.” 

“You?” Jongin laughs incredulously. One of his arms comes up to wrap easily around Mark’s shoulders. “You could have all of Korea bending down and praising your name and it still wouldn’t be enough.” 

Inexplicably, Taemin winks at Mark. “Like all creative souls, I need validation to live.” 

“It’s true,” Mark agrees. 

“Perfect!” Taemin delights. He reaches over and grabs Mark’s arm, hauling him with more strength than expected over to him and out of Jongin’s hold. “Sorry, Mark’s mine now. You can’t have him back.”

“Heeeeey,” Jongin pouts in that way that always makes Mark want to kiss him. In front of Taemin, he bets he could. 

He knows now that his earlier jealousy when it came to Taemin was drastically misplaced. There’s no romantic spark but they’re brothers, confidants. For years and years, they must have been some of the only people in each other’s lives that really _got it._ It would be wrong for Mark to begrudge that. 

“You must be hungry from the trip.” Taemin leads them into the dining room (one of many). There’s already an assortment of fruit and crackers and cheese, as well as more traditional Korean snacks set up. Taemin obviously knows Jongin’s favorites. “I thought we’d take an early dinner because of how exhausting travel is. And knowing that you’re probably hungry for—” Taemin winks. Honest-to-God _winks._ “—other things.” 

Mark blushes and wrinkles his nose in embarrassment, but that just seems to further amuse Taemin. Jongin, for his part, doesn’t deny anything. He does, however, place his hand high on Mark’s thigh, too high for acceptable company, and that makes his intentions clear.

Over food Taemin tells them about lithium mining in Africa, the strange birds he saw at the conservatory (acting them out, to a chorus of laughter from Jongin and Mark), and an intriguing art festival he was thinking of funding. 

“The proposal of the festival is to have it on a sustainable vineyard in rural Austria. And the theme of the festival itself is to deconstruct iconic performances from pop culture and the like, but naked,” Taemin says nonchalantly.

Mark nearly spits out his wine, chokes on it instead, and Jongin rubs his back soothingly as he looks on with genuine concerns. 

“Uhhh, I’m fine,” he coughs. 

“I think you need to get laid, Taeminnie,” Jongin says as he swirls his own wine. “Between this and the orgasm photos, you’re sounding a little... sexually frustrated.” 

“Is that an invite?” Taemin asks, eyes sparkling as they swap between the two other men. Mark can feel panic rising in his throat. They’ve never—not that Mark _wouldn’t_ —but he’s not sure—

“Hush, you’re scaring Mark.” Jongin’s hand on his thigh squeezes in a way that is both comforting and intensely possessive. He goes even further and traces his lips gently across the side of Mark’s neck, the light contact causing shivers to run across his skin. 

“I’m kidding, of course. Jongin and I? Ugh, I would never.” 

“Well there was that one time—” 

“Never _again.”_

Mark perks up curiously, and he looks at Jongin, eyes searching for the story. Jongin quirks as eyebrow at him, as if asking _is this too much?_ Mark shakes his head minutely. _No, I want to hear._

“It was in Tokyo—Taemin loves Japan.” Taemin nods. He does indeed love Japan. “And, god, I’m not even sure how we ended up there, but we were at a host club.”

“Host _ess_ ,” Taemin corrects. “It was a few years ago, after I made my first million. It was time to splash out.” 

“The point is, we were there, Taemin was spending money, and we met this girl there.” 

“She was American but spoke Korean! We were so surprised!” 

“Her name was something... oh! Krystal. One thing led and another and,” Jongin shrugs. “It wasn’t so weird in the moment because we were drunk but the next morning, finding myself in bed with them felt so strange. Plus, Taemin uses too much teeth when he kisses.” 

“I don’t! Mark, please don’t let Jongin slander my name.” 

“You know, that was the last time I fucked a girl.” Mark snorts loudly, the comment hitting him completely by surprise. He leans against Jongin’s shoulder as he devolves into laughter. “It’s true!” He winds his arms around Mark closer, closer, until he’s practically pulled the younger onto his lap. “Dick is much better.” 

“Both have their charms,” Taemin hums thoughtfully. As if he’s truly considering the merits of dick and pussy on a cerebral level. “But anyways, I find it so intriguing to explore our bodies and sexualities in ways other than sex. It can be a very engaging thought experiment.” They fall into comfortable silence while Taemin pauses. “You know Mark, I dropped out of dancing even though I loved it so much because of the relationship I had with my body. It was very unhealthy and threatened to destroy me. But now I’m able to explore in ways that are repairing that relationship.” 

There’s nothing to say to that. Mark just nods. He understands Taemin’s just given an important piece of himself up, a soft and vulnerable part, because he trusts Mark. He trusts Mark with _Jongin._

“Being alive is very odd, isn’t it?” Taemin laughs. Just like that, the change in tone reverts to something loose and easy. The sun creeps further down into the horizon. Taemin pours them more wine. 

-

“You did really well today,” Jongin tells him softly. The room Taemin set up for them is naturally spectacular, all warm sandstone. If they wanted, they could open up all of the many windows leading to the balcony overlooking the sea and practically sleep outside. “Thanks for putting up with Taemin. He’s... a lot, I know. But he really likes you.” 

“It’s not a problem, Jongin,” Mark replies seriously. He does genuinely like Taemin, and because he’s so important to Jongin, dealing with his eccentricities is easy. Somehow he feels wound up and tired all at once. “I want you to like my friends, too.” 

Jongin gives him that cute, lopsided smile in his repertoire. “I already like Lucas. What can I say, you have good taste. Unlike me,” he laughs. 

“Hey, are you implying that _I’m_ not good taste?” Mark teases. His abdomen, which just some minutes earlier was protesting from being too full, is experiencing now a different kind of pressure. 

“Of course not.” Jongin crowds into Mark’s space. Instead of taking charge and initiating right away, he nuzzles against Mark until the younger is the one doing the kissing. Jongin purrs into the contact, and it makes Mark’s lips buzz. 

There’s something in the Mexico light, maybe, that makes Jongin so relaxed and at ease. Even softer than how he is in New York. It could be just as simple as being away from the constant click of cameras, too. 

“Baby,” Jongin moans. “I want, I want. Mmmmmh. I want you to fuck me. If you’ll let me, I want to take your cock all weekend.” 

Mark’s body reacts in kind. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s topped, but it’s not something they do frequently, either. Mark loves getting fucked, more than he ever knew he could. In the past, whenever he watched porn he imagined himself as the who _did_ the fucking, and most of his past encounters have gone that way. With Jongin it’s been so different, but fuck if Mark hasn’t enjoyed their sex. More than enjoyed it. He appreciates the enthusiasm for his ass, of course he does, but the thought of Jongin being the one bouncing on his cock stirs a deep arousal. Primal, almost.

And this is what Jongin wants from him. And Mark always wants to be well behaved. 

“I can make you feel good,” Mark replies into the kiss, and sets about doing just that. They don’t even have to move, and they continue their makeout session standing in the middle of the bedroom, swaying gently. Mark marvels in the way their mouths fit together, like he always does, the tingling feeling he gets from the touch of their lips. 

With the heated tiles below his feet, Mark could stay like this forever, just running his hands through Jongin’s hair just to soothe it back over and repeat the process all over again. Jongin’s hands hold his hip loosely and cups the back of his neck, massaging the muscles tense from the flight. 

Mark swipes along Jongin’s bottom lip and the elder welcomes Mark’s tongue into his mouth, grappling playfully. For the most part, Jongin is pliant under his hands and lips, letting Mark explore where he wants. Jongin teases his tongue along his teeth before backing off and letting Mark take charge again.

 _This is your show,_ he’s saying. _Tonight, my body is yours._

Which means it’s also Mark’s choice when to cut the foreplay. Jongin’s getting impatient. The hand on his neck begins to push more insistently, and Jongin must be doing all he can to stop himself from pushing up into Mark’s hair and _grabbing._ For that, he keeps their kiss connected for longer, until he absolutely has to pull back for air. 

Just from kissing Jongin looks undone. A heavy flush sits across his cheeks and his lips are swollen and pink. Mark can’t help but press his thumb against Jongin’s bottom lip, imaging something else there, and it must be sensitive because Jongin groans at the contact. His pupils are dark pits. 

“Mark, please.” 

“If you’re so needy, then alright.” Mark backs them up to the long couch sitting along the wall facing the bed. The view is so good it’s giving Mark ideas. Thankfully, they brought quite the colorful array of toys with them. But for now, Mark splays out his knees and leans back for Jongin to come to him. He grinds the palm of his hand against the crotch of his jeans so the message comes across loud and clear. 

There’s no sight more beautiful than Jongin on his knees, and Mark tells him so. “You look heavenly there. If only the magazines could see you like this.” His mind flashes to photoshoots of Jongin in the bathtub, draped sensually over the side. Even those feverish images can’t compare to the stunning view of the real thing. 

Jongin’s breath fans hotly across the crotch of Mark’s pants. He’s not hard yet, but this teasing gets him well on his way. His cock twitches in his boxers when Jongin runs a purposeful, long lick down the line of his shaft. And when Jongin laughs, that’s another one. 

“Make me hard with your mouth.” Mark loops his waistband through his thumbs so his pants and boxers come off easily. He’s still mostly soft, but he wants Jongin to suck him to full hardness. Jongin hums with pleasure. 

“Cute.” Jongin licks coquettishly, little kitten licks, up and down. 

He’s not quite done teasing. Because he knows _exactly_ what he looks like, Jongin also takes just the tip of Mark’s cock onto his tongue and opens his mouth, letting the drool run out onto his chin. Want, molten hot, travels through Mark until he feels it must be coming from his pores. Some does leak out, in the form of salty precome from the tip of his cock that dribbles onto Jongin’s tongue. 

Like this, Jongin can swallow him down all the way, and he does. The heat of his mouth feels incredible around him. Everything is so warm in Mexico. 

He doesn’t have any reason to be shy, because he knows Jongin loves this. He loves it when Mark is soft and small in his mouth, even better when he can feel Mark getting harder and harder because of what magic he’s working with his tongue. Some mornings Jongin goes down on him because he feels like it, not even to get Mark all the way off. 

It’s not enough to choke Jongin, but it will be. Of the two, Mark gets more practice deep throating, which isn’t to say Jongin’s bad at it—Jongin’s not bad at anything—but he’s sloppy. Mark loves sloppy, though. He loves that Jongin always tears up when he’s giving head, a mix between his body rebelling against the object in his throat and the overwhelming pleasure it brings him. He loves it that Jongin drools and makes a mess, and makes the most filthy of noises.

“Now this is what the world should see,” Mark says. It makes Jongin groan. His shoulders shudder from where they’re hunched up to hold onto the edge of the seat. This part is newer for them—normally, before last month, Mark would steer clear of the boundaries between them. But now they’re out in the open, and if Mark can’t face them, he can at least get off on them. That’s healthy, right? “Fuck, you look so fucking sexy sucking my dick.” 

Jongin pulls off almost completely to slurp messily at the head. He looks up at Mark with hooded eyes, his trained bedroom gaze, but with a twinkle of something else there, too. Something just for Mark. 

He can play, too.

“Will you choke on your baby’s dick now?” Mark asks, so sweetly. Jongin moans through his chest and he goes for it, working his way further and further down, working the cock into his throat. Mark’s fully hard now, and it’s not nearly as easy. He gurgles, and gags, and it should be disgusting but instead it’s so incredibly hot, to have this perfect, gorgeous man wrecking himself so willingly. 

In his own briefs, Jongin is achingly hard and leaking against the fabric. 

It’s too much for Jongin to handle though, at least on his own. The hand Mark places on the back of Jongin’s head is firm but not punishing, but it’s what Jongin needs to be guided down further. 

God, fuck, that’s so good, the way Jongin’s throat begins to spasm around his dick as the elder swallows down the sudden surge of panic. And he sucks hard, works his tongue along the underside of Mark’s dick.

Jongin’s face is so wet when Mark pulls him back up, and god does he want to run his tongue across those cheeks and _taste._

“Mark. _Mark.”_

“Come on, you can do it again.” This time Mark doesn’t let Jongin work himself up to it, but pulls a little bit harsher at his hair and works his cock into his throat faster. He doesn’t thrust into that heat, but Jongin still gags. It’s so hot, so warm, so good that it could drive Mark crazy. Jongin’s got the space to back off if he wants to, but he doesn’t, until the tip of Mark’s dick nudges against the back of his throat. 

That’s so fucking good. Fuck, fuck. 

“Nini, you feel, fuck you feel good.” Mark uses the hand not gripping Jongin’s hair to intertwine their fingers on his thigh. He could do this all night. They should stay in Mexico forever. “Ah—ah, you make your baby feel the best, the best.” He doesn’t thrust so much as grind into Jongin’s throat, trying to see if the other can take him all the way down to the curls of hair and the base of his dick. Rub his balls against Jongin’s chin. 

Jongin sputters and spit falls from hip lips onto his chin, his thighs. The grip on Mark’s hand is bordering on painful. But he takes it as Mark grinds his hips into that tight warmth. 

He looks up at Mark and he looks so wrecked, tears making his face ever more red. Mark wonders if he reached down and ran his thumb down the column of Jongin’s neck if he’d be able to feel his own cock there. 

It’s such a strong thought that Mark nearly comes right then and there, and has to pull Jongin off for good. 

For a minute, Mark lets Jongin slump against his thigh. His eyes are barely holding open, but even so he follows Mark’s movements as the other pets him. 

“God Jongin,” Mark sighs, out of breath like he was the one choking on dick. He’s still so hard, too. Jongin smiles softly. It should be impossible to look so soft and gentle with tear tracks staining your face, but of course he pulls it off. “Hey, color? That too much?” 

“Green. Just no more of that, please.” Jongin says as his fingers start to dance across the top of Mark’s spread thighs. Mark can’t resist reaching down and slapping his dick against Jongin’s face a few times, not when he looks like an innocent whore that’s just been wrecked for the first time. Jongin parts his lips for him again, chasing with his tongue. “Come fuck me now?” he asks, hopeful. 

“Go lay on the bed and prep yourself,” Mark commands. “I want to watch you.” Jongin rushes to comply, moving so fast he bounces against the mattress. 

Mark’s achingly hard, precome dripping from the tip of his cock, but he gives himself a few strokes while he watches the show Jongin puts on, because doing nothing would be impossible. And it’s quite the show. 

On the bed Jongin lays on his back propped up against the pillows. He wants to be able to see Mark, that much is clear. He gets off with Mark watching. It would be impossible for someone as perfect as Jongin to not know how beautiful they are like this. God, Mark wants to devour him. 

The distance builds a delicious sexual tension between them. Jongin begins with one finger, teasing around the rim like how he’d do with Mark. But he loses patience with himself quickly, adding two before he’s fully ready and moaning loudly. Even from the couch Mark can see how his hole clenches around the digits. 

“I want your cock baby,” Jongin whines. Already there are pricks of tears at the corners of his eyes. “Come fuck me. Please, want you to fill me up.” 

“Open yourself then. Get yourself ready for me.” Mark tells him in a show of restraint surprising to even him. 

“Ah— _ah._ ” Jongin cries out when he nudges a third finger first against his rim, then wriggling it inside along the others. 

“C’mon Nini, fuck yourself on them.” Mark has to pull off on his own cock, or else he’ll be too close. He wants this to be good for Jongin, perfect, and he can’t risk coming too soon. “Nice and good. Need to loosen you up.”

“Baby _please_.” Jongin’s mouth falls open as he drops back further and lifts his leg higher, giving him a better angle for fucking himself, and a better view for Mark.

That’s his breaking point. Mark practically jumps on the bed in his haste. 

“Yes yes yes yes, fuck me Mark. Fuck me please,” Jongin chants. His fingers abandon their prep work to grip onto the sheets instead. Even his toes are curled in anticipation, which Mark knows because he hoists those long, flexible legs over his shoulders to thrust in, good and deep. Jongin cries out and his legs shake alongside his heaving stomach. 

“God you’re tight.” Around him, Jongin feels impossibly good. Even better than his mouth. 

“For you baby.” Jongin gives him a dreamy look. He pulls Mark down for a kiss before Mark pulls back for leverage. This is what Jongin’s been begging for. He deserves to get fucked good. 

“Ready?” Mark runs his hands down Jongin’s sides. He rolls his hips carefully, making sure to watch for any sign of discomfort. But already, Jongin looks out of it, taken away by his pleasure. 

“Fuck me good,” Jongin dares. 

The angle is intense from the start. The tears that sprung to Jongin’s eyes earlier fall freely as Mark snaps his hips over and over again. The elder tries to cover them with his forearm, but Mark tugs them away, laces their fingers together on the sheets instead. Every round knocks another heady voice from Jongin’s lips.

“Wanna see you,” he tells Jongin, punctuated by a kiss. “So beautiful. Fuck, you’re the best thing here, you know that? You put the whole sea to shame.”

“Ah, Mark,” Jongin blushes. It’s the cutest thing when he’s shy. It doesn’t fit his public Kai persona at all, but it’s purely _Jongin._

“Tell me how my cock feels in you.”

The pace changes, going for slow grinds instead of hard thrusts. This way, Mark grinds the head of his dick against Jongin’s prostate. It’s slower. More intimate. Does weird things to his heart that he can’t get enough of. But it’s also good for Jongin, and it shows on his face. 

“It feels so good. Love it when you fuck me,” he babbles. He tugs Mark down until he gets the message and drops kisses and kitten nips to Jongin’s neck. Nothing that will last past the trip. “Feel so close to you. Want you to fuck me more. Fuck me all the time.”

“Wouldn’t you miss my hole?” 

Jongin whines. Clearly it hadn’t occurred to him that only one of them can top. 

“We’ll take turns,” he says, a little laugh chasing it. Mark laughs at that, too. It does something to break the fever, but doesn’t change how perfect Jongin feels around him, clenching his walls every time Mark pushes in deep. 

“Ride me?” 

“Oh, baby. Yes please.” 

They end up with Jongin facing away from Mark, on his hands and knees, with his calves tucked under Mark’s outstretched legs. He misses that beautiful, fucked-out face, but the dimples of Jongin’s back and his round ass help to make up for it. And like this, Mark can play with it all he likes.   
  
And like this, Jongin can fuck himself however he wants, which apparently, is hard and fast. He bounces on Mark’s cock like it’s a dildo made just for his pleasure, and fuck if that doesn’t have Mark leaking more. 

And this way, too, Mark can reach forward and spread Jongin’s ass cheeks with his hand and watch as his dick slides in and out of Jongin’s beautiful, puffy hole. Just once to test the waters, Mark slaps his open palm against the flesh and Jongin nearly pulls off of him with how he arches his back.

“Again,” he pleads. “Again, again, hit me again.” 

Five on each side. Every slap comes down with an obscene noise and Jongin does nothing to quiet himself. Good—Mark doesn’t want him to. The red string lights up so beautifully, and Mark knows from experience how good that burn feels. Jongin bounced on his dick faster, like he’ll die if he doesn’t. 

Mark tips his head back and falls into the pleasure. Jongin knows his body so well, all the ways to get him off. He takes care of Mark so well—fucks him the best of anyone, ever, and even has his entire body pulsing with pleasure when Jongin’s the one being fucked. That dancer body moves with such precision that with every bounce Mark is hitting Jongin’s prostate. It punches little moans and gasps from him.

Jongin can’t keep up the brutal pace for long, and it’s when he keens and his hips stutter that Mark knows he’s close.

“Fuck, fuck,” Mark slides his hands along the back of Jongin’s hips. “Let me see your face.” 

Jongin swings his legs around in a single elegant movement. The motion drags his inner walls along Mark’s cock, eliciting a pleasure different to what he’s ever felt before. Jongin’s mouth is on his in the next moment, and they kiss messily with too much teeth and tongue as Mark drives up into Jongin. 

“Baby, I’m gonna cum soon,” Jongin pants. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

“I know. You gonna come untouched? Can you cum from just your ass and my cock?” He knows Jongin can. He also knows the goading will help get him there, because Jongin’s nothing if not competitive. 

“Fuck me, fuck me harder—ah!” Jongin throws his head back when Mark grips onto his hips and drives up into him at a brutal pace. Impossible to sustain, but he doesn’t have to, because in a minute Jongin tightens around him so much it’s painful as he comes across their chests. 

Mark tugs at Jongin’s hips, trying to lift him enough for him to slip out. It would be nice to straddle Jongin and jerk off over his beautiful face, maybe, or even on his hole. But instead, Jongin shakes his head. 

“Want—keep going,” Jongin breathes out. His hair's a mess, pupils blown hide. He looks half-crazed and utterly sexy. 

“You sure? Not too sensitive?” 

“I _am_ but—I wanna feel it. Green, baby. Green.” Jongin looks into Mark’s eyes and for a moment, they don’t need words to communicate. Mark gets it. Jongin does this for him all the time. 

“Want me to take you there?” 

Jongin nods. He bites his lip in anticipation, and Mark thinks he might pass out from how much blood is currently pumping to his dick. 

“Ok. Gimme your hands.” 

Jongin whimpers when Mark begins to move again. It’s a tiny noise, a pathetic noise, proof of what Mark’s reduced Jongin to. 

“So greedy,” Mark says. He’s not entirely in control of the words coming from his mouth. “You already came and you want baby’s cum, too?”

“I am,” Jongin cries out. “I am greedy.” 

Mark goes slow, but not gentle. He still fucks Jongin like he means it, and if the other didn’t want this, to feel right there on the edge of pleasure and absolute madness, then he wouldn’t have begged Mark for it. 

Exhausted from his own orgasm, Jongin doesn’t have the energy to bounce or roll his hips on his own. But he still takes Mark’s cock like he was born for this moment right here, squirming and writhing from the overwhelming intensity of his pleasure. When Mark’s grinds turn into proper thrusts, tears drip down his flushed cheeks. 

“Nini c’mere.” He pulls Jongin down by the neck and curls around him. He gets his legs under him for leverage to pound up and up and _up._ Not precisely for Jongin’s pleasure, but for his own, like Jongin is just there from him to use and cum in. 

In his arms Jongin trembles and cries out, no, he’s crying properly now. It manages to be ridiculously hot despite how wrong he knows it is. “Fuck Nini, gonna cum, gonna cum—ah, bite me, hurt me please, make it hurt— _fuck!”_

Because Jongin is so good to him, he bites down harshly on the juncture of Mark’s shoulder and his orgasm is practically ripped straight from him. 

Even in his haze, Mark has the presence of mind to pull Jongin into his chest tighter. The cries have quieted, but surely Jongin is in some pain . 

Mark should know, though, that Jongin is nothing if not a surprise. Before Mark can register he’s moved, Jongin is reaching behind himself and when the hand returns, it’s glossy with cum. He presents those long, elegant digits to Mark, who obediently takes them into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around them and they feel so good, so right there. He cleans the cum off until it’s all in his mouth and opens to show a hooded-eyed Jongin the white on his tongue. It’s salty, but Mark barely tastes it. 

“Good _boy,_ ” he praises. He dives down for a kiss himself, all tongue, and dropping a closed-mouth one when it’s gone. 

Then he’s giggling again into the hollow of Mark’s neck like nothing happened. Like Mark didn’t just fuck him past the point of overstimulation, until his brain was short-circuiting.

“You needed that, huh?” Mark asks, stroking Jongin’s back carefully. God, his abs hurt. 

“I did and you gave it to me,” Jongin hums happily. He licks and kisses over the harsh bite he gave Mark. “Sorry, this will be pretty ugly tomorrow.”

“None of your gifts are ever ugly,” Mark says, and means it _all._ “You should be thinking about yourself.”

“Mmmmh,” Jongin hums non committedly. “I’m not concerned about feeling you tomorrow.” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m actually looking forward to it.” 

They go again on the balcony. The hot Mexico night surrounds them in its grip, like fucking underneath the warm sheets after a bath. The railing is the perfect height for Jongin to lean into and hold him up while Mark fucks him from behind, first with a bullet vibrator teasing his rim, then his dick. They should use the anal beads, next, if Jongin’s not too sore. 

Jongin comes apart so beautifully like this. So quickly, too. The freedom feels good in Mark’s veins. The open air against his back and the warm slide of Jongin’s dick under his hands. 

He moans out loud, unabashed. Nothing to hide. He chants a mixture of _Mark_ and _baby_ like they’re the only two words he knows. The second time, Mark comes first, and wouldn’t it be nice if they could do this over and over and over again until Jongin needs to be plugged up? Jesus, Mexico is making his brain melt. 

When they fall asleep, they do so in their usual way, with Mark’s head pillowed on Jongin’s chest. 

-

The next day finds them on a boat. Not a yacht, something more modest than that, but still sleek and luxurious, much like Taemin himself. Although it’s morning, the champagne is flowing, and Mark gets to enjoy the very pleasant view of Jongin glistening wet in the sun. 

It’s easy to love Jongin in Mexico. Jongin makes himself easy to love here.

Mark loves him in New York too, of course, but without the constant reminder of all the walls and cameras, their tenuous relationship feels as free as the first day Mark got down on his knees. 

Speaking—speaking of knees. Jongin looks like something straight out of a gay kid’s Sports Illustrated wet dream, lounging out on the ship’s bow. His swim trunks are tiny, barely covering the curve of his ass, and when the sun hits the droplets of seawater clinging to his chest he honestly sparkles. When he first climbed out of the water and back onto the boat, he flipped his wet hair back in such a casually beautiful manner Mark got lightheaded. 

He wants nothing, _nothing_ , more than to crawl into Jongin’s lap and beg for his cum. 

Instead, he wills his boner to go mostly away. Jongin and Taemin seem to completely lack personal boundaries, but it’s a step too far for Mark to get his dick out anywhere near the billionaire. And Jongin’s dick, now, belongs to Mark too. 

“Did you see something interesting in the water?” Mark looks up from where he’s been staring intently at the waves, trying to calm himself. Jongin is propped up on his elbows and beckons him gently over. Mark can only hope his chub is obscured enough in his swim trunks, which aren't nearly as tight as Jongin’s. 

“Uh yeah, I thought I saw a dolphin,” Mark lies. As soon as he gets within reach Jongin is pulling a bucket hat onto his head. 

“You need to be careful with the top of your head,” he says. Next he’s pulling Mark down (not into his lap, but nearly), armed with sunscreen despite Mark having already applied plenty earlier. “And more of this. Sun damage is a real threat to your skin.” 

Yeah, for pasty people like Mark and Taemin, who is obscured entirely with a light cotton coverup. For glorious, tan gods like Jongin, the sun is his best friend. And Mark is glad the model has spent enough time away from Korea, has had enough people tell him his skin tone is beautiful, that he can enjoy laying out like this. 

Mark’s never been on a boat like this before—not that this floating piece of luxury really counts as a _boat._ It’s far more peaceful than he would have expected. The water is beautiful and peaceful, and the horizon stretches out in every direction so that it feels like just the three of them. Taemin, as it turns out, has a perfectly curated playlist to go along with the day. 

“Lay down next to me and just listen to the world float by,” Jongin says. 

Sounds perfect. 

There are no clouds to watch, but laying next to Jongin is relaxing all on its own. He falls into a lul, rocking along with the rhythm of the sea. He doesn’t fall asleep, because he still is distantly aware of Jongin and Taemin laughing in the background, but their voices seem so far off, the same as the birds circling around them lazily. 

It’s not until he feels something cold and surprising drop onto his stomach. It shocks Mark back into reality and causes him to nearly collide with Jongin, who’s hovering above him wearing his most mischievous grin. In his hand is a champagne bottle, already opened, some of the contents of which are now being worn by Mark. 

Eyes still locked, Jongin leans down and licks a stripe across Mark’s stomach, slurping up the champagne and licking gently away at any residue stickiness. Surely he can’t ignore the way Mark sucks in sharply and the way his dick jumps in his swim trunks. 

By the look on Jongin’s face, not only has he noticed, but he delights in it. He slowly tips more of the bubbly drink onto Mark and again chases it with his mouth. This time, Mark can’t hold back the moan that builds in the back of his throat. 

He clamps down on it the moment he remembers where he is. He glances around quickly, but the bow is empty. The shady spot Taemin occupied previously is empty. 

“He went below,” Jongin says. His breath is hot, like the sun, against Mark’s delicate skin. “Business call. So we have some time to ourselves.” 

The honey of seduction is heavy in his tone. 

“You’re insatiable,” Mark gasps. But at the same time, he tangles a hand into Jongin’s hair in silent encouragement. 

“You make me this way,” is Jongin’s answer. Gradually he slinks lower and lower on Mark, until he’s paused directly over Mark’s growing erection. He looks like if a stray siren crawled up onto the deck, if Mark didn’t know better.

He’s really just that lucky to have someone fit for the myths salivating at the chance to suck his dick. 

With one last swig of champagne, Jongin shimmies Mark’s shorts down and leads with a long lick down the shaft. He sucks him off like he’s practicing how to hold his breath. 

-

At the beginning of the month, it was a predictable outcome that things wouldn’t be good forever. But Mark _had_ been hoping they would be for a while longer, and their tides wouldn't change before May came to an end and summer began.

The trigger is innocuous enough. They wake up in the morning, their fifth day in Mexico, tangled in the sheets together like every morning before that. Jongin pulls himself—gloriously naked, covered in bites and bruises from Mark—from bed to go through his morning workout routine; meanwhile Mark picks at the plate of fresh fruit one of the maids brings in. 

For five days, Mark had been living in a fantasy. Long enough, apparently. 

Lazily, Mark rolls onto his stomach as he flips through his phone, social app to app. He sees Johnny’s Instagram story, enjoying late spring in New York with Ten and taking photos of him at rooftops bars. Yangyang, now back in Germany, appears to be eating his way through Dusseldorf. Chris is complaining about the weather—it’s winter in Australia, after all. 

He only sees the post because Lucas is tagged in it. Otherwise, he doesn’t pay much attention to Baekhyun’s Instagram. What starts off as a cute scene—Baekhyun curled up in Lucas’ lap with the younger man’s chin hooked over the singer’s shoulder—soon has Mark’s stomach dropping out of his ass. 

Baekhyun opens his mouth, and he’s singing Mark’s song. It’s been months and months since he’s heard it, but he wrote it. Of course he’d recognize it anywhere. It sounds different coming out of Baekhyun’s mouth instead of Donghyuck’s, but it’s undeniably great. The song sounds like it was made for him. 

There’s only one way Baekhyun could’ve had access to it. Mark knows _he_ didn’t send it to him, and the only other person he’d sent it to is currently stretching on the balcony. 

It’s nice that Jongin is on the other side of the glass. It makes Mark feel removed from the situation; dissociated from the anger and dread setting in. 

Mark watches Jongin until he comes back in. He’s glowing with post-workout sweat. Isn’t it so nice that Mark gets to look at him like this? For months he’s been convincing himself all the struggle and secrets are worth it because _Jongin_ is worth it. 

“Shower with me?” Jongin asks. He hasn’t yet caught Mark’s expression. His face falls when he turns. “Hey. Something up?” 

Wordlessly, Mark turns up the volume on the video. 

“Sounds nice, doesn’t it?” Mark says ruefully. He’s close to laughing, or maybe crying just feels the same way. 

“Mark.” Jongin takes a step closer. Trepidation heavy in his words.

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Mark snorts. “I know you did it.” 

“Baekhyun really wanted to hear your music. And I thought it would suit him. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be mad.”

“You did know, though,” Mark says, and that’s the truth of it. Jongin did this _despite_ knowing how the younger would take it. “That’s why you’re tip-toeing around me right now. You always know, but you do it anyway. Fuck Jongin, I showed you those in confidence. Not for you to share them with whoever you feel like.” 

“I don’t understand why you’re so angry right now,” Jongin says quietly. Everything about his body language says he doesn’t want to fight, and Mark doesn’t either. But this has shown that nothing’s changed. Not really. “Baby, please explain it to me?”

It would be one thing if this were the _only_ thing. It’s not, though. It’s the first on a growing list. Instead of answering, Mark asks another question:

“You just don’t get it, do you? I don’t want this,” Mark gestures wildly around them. To Taemin’s ridiculous, opulent mansion. They might as well be at a 5-star resort that sells $20 cocktails. “I’m so fucking in love with you and I have been for _months._ None of it was because of your money. Your money makes me feel dirty. I feel—it feels wrong for Baekhyun to be singing my songs because _you_ gave them to him. I don’t deserve it.”

“You deserve the _world_ , Mark,” Jongin whispers. Tears already are prickling at his eyes, but even worse, Mark can see pity in them. Pity feels sharp and painful in Mark’s chest. It makes his lungs burn.

“I don’t mean in a self-hatred sense,” he snaps. “I didn’t work for any of that. You just handed it to me. You keep giving and giving me things like I’ll be gone if you don’t, but you won’t give me the one thing that would make me stay.” 

“Baby, please, tell me what that is and I’ll get it for you.” 

“Did you arrange the Columbia internship?” Mark asks, point-blank instead. Jongin winces. He’s a terrible liar and doesn’t even attempt it. Mark knows the answer, anyways, had known it since the beginning. “I thought we talked about this,” he sighs. Strangely, he feels more disappointed than anything. Jongin hasn’t changed—and to be fair, Mark shouldn’t have expected him to.

“I just wanted you to be happy,” Jongin says weakly. “Everyone—everyone should know how talented you are. That’s all I want.” 

“I want to earn it, Jongin. I need to be able to look at everything I have and know that I earned it for myself, not because of _you._ Can’t you see that?” 

“Everyone uses their connections in this world, why shouldn’t you?” Jongin’s wary. His voice sounds annoyed, but his shoulders are scrunched together. He looks afraid. He’s more concerned about Mark’s feelings than his own reactions. He’s so obviously hurting Jongin—he wants to apologize. But he knows he can’t. 

“The problem is that you don’t get how big a violation of—of agency this is for me! Sometimes I really just need to feel like I’m my own person, not just your plaything.” 

“You’re not,” Jongin argues. “You’re not, please, you know I don’t think of you that way.” 

Mark feels heavy, all the way down to his bones. It’s true that Jongin does this all on accident, does these things without thinking of how Mark may feel about them. But he still _does_ them, and it still affects Mark the same, and that’s the issue at hand. 

Desperately, he wants everything to be okay. The memory of his misery the past month is still a fresh wound but also serves as a reminder that nothing, really, has changed. It’s only that Mark wanted to pretend. As he can see so clearly here, pretending has gotten him nowhere. 

He wants to go over to Jongin and hold his hands, forgive him. He wants to do it again and again, everytime Jongin inevitably oversteps, and Mark returns to their private little penthouse sanctuary in Manhattan. He wants to kid himself into thinking that just Jongin is enough. 

Realization hits him harshly. It stings behind his eyes. But he knows. He knows. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Mark says quietly. Last time—last time felt like a furious firestorm that tore through them and devoured their relationship. Now, he feels nothing but in control. “I love you, Jongin. This doesn’t change that. But I can’t be your secret. You say you love me, but you try to control my life even though you won’t go to dinner or the goddamn movies with me.” 

“You knew from the beginning it would be like this. I didn’t _want_ to keep it a secret, it’s—it’s just—” 

“I know. Jongin, I know you never meant to hurt me. You’re so good. God, you’re so _good._ But you did it anyways, whether you meant to or not,” Mark says. “When we first sat down in the restaurant, I was so enamoured with you. You were like nothing I’d ever seen. I didn’t even think you were _real_ , sometimes. I thought I could handle it. I thought I didn’t need a public relationship. I thought I didn’t need _any_ relationship.” 

Mark closes his eyes. 

“I was wrong about that.” 

When he opens them, he sees the tears bubbling at the corners of Jongin’s eyes. It breaks his heart, too. His own tears are waiting patiently, but Mark holds them back for now. 

“I love you,” he repeats. “I want to stay with you. But right now, would you post a picture of us? Would you call your PR team to make an announcement? Would you just go outside with me and let me hold your hand?” 

Jongin stays silent. His eyes drop to the floor. 

“I love you, Jongin. But I can’t do this anymore. I thought I could, I really did. I don’t want you to give me the world, I just want _you._ But I know you can’t, and I know that wasn’t the deal, but I’m fucking sorry, I don’t want a deal anymore. I want someone who loves me back. Fully. In the open..”

“Is there anything I can do, _please_ , Mark.” Jongin begs. Begging is not above him, not when it comes to Mark. 

“You know already, you just can’t do it. When you—I can’t be with you until then, ok? I know this feels like a dogshit ultimatum, but man, I need to watch out for my feelings too, you know? You have all of me and I’ve got none of you. I just want you to love me back.” 

_Say it,_ Mark thinks. He wants, more acutely than anything, for Jongin to say it back. _You want me to stay so say it. Promise me._

He waits. Jongin stands still and silent, unable to meet his gaze. Mark’s got his answer. 

Mark packs his things silently. Jongin stays where he is, caught in a strange negative space with nowhere to go. His eyes don’t leave Mark for a second, however. If this is the last time he’s going to see Mark, he wants the image of the younger to be burned into his memory. 

“So this is it?” Jongin asks. He’s still so far away from Mark, and sounding on the verge of tears. Like how Mark feels. The distance is physically painful; Mark can’t imagine what the breakup is going to feel like in a couple days. “Really, really it?” 

“If things change for you, I’ve got another year at NYU. You know where to find me.” There. Mark chooses to leave the door open. There’s no use pretending this isn’t hard on both of them, or that if the stars aligned, they wouldn’t get back together in a second. 

“I’ll call the airline,” Jongin offers when Mark looks nearly ready to go. The other’s voice is so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it. This, at least, is the last thing he can do. 

“No thanks,” Mark manages a smile, small and pathetic. “I’ll make my own way.” 

They stand there, then. Lingering. 

_Say it._

If only love were enough to stop someone from leaving. 

-

**June**

Johnny tosses him another beer. Thankfully, it’s a Bud Light and not one of the heinous double IPAs his brother has taken to drinking. They’re so popular in New York that Mark can’t get away from them, despite how revolting they are. He’s convinced anyone who likes them is just lying to sound cool. 

The roof of Johnny’s building in Brooklyn isn’t exactly finished, but apparently Johnny has a key, and that makes it magically safe to walk on. Sketchier things happen in New York apartments, though. 

Mark settles down comfortably into his lawn chair, beer tucked into a novelty _Star Wars_ koozie. New York from her roofs is a priceless sight, and they’re some of the best vantage points for summer sunsets, away from the stench of warm trash on the streets. 

It’s 7pm, which during East Coast summers is late afternoon. It’s hard to believe that June is already nearly over. They’ve been coming up and doing this a lot. It reminds Mark of when they were younger, riding their bikes through the streets of Queens after part-time jobs. It’s nice to say that the two brothers are as close now as they were back then.

Now, Johnny always makes time for Mark when he asks for it, silently rearranging his own schedule. Mark wouldn’t have known about it if Ten hadn’t walked in while they were playing the newest battle royale together on Johnny’s couch, looking dressed up and ready to go out only for Johnny to gently shoo him into the kitchen. Mark probably shouldn’t have listened in. Duh, he did. 

(“Hey, I texted you,” Johnny had said quietly. 

“I was underground. It must not have gone through.” 

“Shit, sorry. Mark called me last minute. You know it’s tough for him right now.” 

“It’s ok,” Ten said. And to Mark’s relief, it really _did_ sound ok. Not like Ten was pitying Mark, but like he really understood. “We can go tomorrow. You know, it’s sexy how much you care about your brother.” 

“Don’t get started with this.” 

“Hey!” The sound of laughter. “I’m overdressed, but I can hang around? You think Mark would be cool with that?” 

“Of course, don’t be dumb. Mark loves you.” 

When the two had come back into the living room, Mark tried his best to pretend everything was normal. Nothing at the time was normal, but he’d gotten a lot of practice at faking it. “You’re welcome for carrying you,” Mark had said. And that was that.)

Does it make Mark feel great? No, it doesn’t. Everytime he calls up his brother it’s twinged with a touch of guilt. Johnny always says yes, but what other plans did Mark get in the way of? 

All because Mark is lonely in a city of millions. 

In May, Mark ran straight to Johnny after getting off his flight from Mexico. The building elevator was broken, and he’d needed to stall out on the second floor landing from hauling up his suitcase just to sob. He’d been doing so well, but it hit him in that moment that it was over with Jongin. Really over. By the time he’d banged on Johnny’s door, he was a heaving, sobbing mess. 

The story came out in a flurry. Johnny had held him the whole time. Afterwards, he ordered pizza. 

Johnny didn’t blame him—he didn’t blame _anyone_. He didn’t blush when Mark went into an in-depth and entirely unnecessary soliloquy about Jongin’s dick. He didn’t chastise Mark for getting involved with a celebrity, an older man, a sugar daddy; for doing something stupid when he should know better. 

“Love hurts, doesn’t it?” Was what he said instead. To that, Mark agreed. 

Things have been better. Mark wants to say he’s been better. The first part of the month was a hailstorm, but lately, things have opened up to clearer skies. When they fought and broke up before, Mark was so angry, the comedown was all misery. His emotions ricocheted from one extreme to the other. Now, Mark just feels dull. A long, slow burn kind of ache, the coals of which he knows will continue to smolder for a long, long time. 

“How’s the internship?” Johnny asks. His beer comes to life with a sharp crackle and fizz. 

“So far so good.” Mark says. After everything he couldn’t, in good conscious, go through with the internship at Columbia Records. Sending that email had been tough. At the time it was the last thing truly connecting Mark to Jongin, besides the other’s phone number, and cutting the cord felt nearly as final as walking out of Mexico. 

Instead, he ended up at a small production house. Someone who worked there saw that student project of his and liked it enough to send him a note. The pay’s shit, but most internships are. Mark gets by. 

And the work is interesting, exciting. They work with a lot of collectives—art collectives, punk collectives, sustainable farming collectives. The description of Mark’s job is everything and anything; sometimes he’s running lunch and other times he’s up until 4am working on a rough cut and stumbling his way through a crash course in After Effects. 

Is it better than Columbia would have been? It’s different, that’s for sure, but Mark can’t speak to what might have been. He’s learning to deal. 

“I’ve got a lot of time to work on personal projects and stuff, too. I feel like I’m learning a lot of stuff. I know it’s not music production—so not what I want to do exactly—but my boss says he wants to put some of my work into a thing soon.” 

Johnny nods along. “That would be sick. I’m glad you had the confidence to give him a listen. I know—I know how guarded you can be with your tracks.” 

At one point, Mark thought of all his tracks as his babies. He’s _also_ learning to let them out of the nest. “Yeah, so am I.” 

“Your boss get up to any interesting antics this week?” 

“Lay? Nah, not this week. Actually—he might’ve asked if I wanted to microdose my second morning coffee with shrooms on Wednesday. Not sure though. It’s kind of hard to tell with him.” 

“I dunno, that sounds pretty fun actually.” 

“Knowing him, he probably grows them in his closet or something.” 

“No shit, you can grow magic mushrooms in your closet?” Johnny swivels to look at him, eyes open and excited. 

“Dude, what?” Mark splutters. After a second, he bursts out laughing. Obviously Johnny is just fucking with him. 

“No, I’m serious,” he says in that pandering way of his. 

“Why don’t you ask that crazy lady on the corner then, I bet she’s got some wild shit.” 

“Maybe I will,” Johnny says, and they fall back into a comfortable silence. It’s almost sunset now. The heat, normally so oppressive street-level, begins to break and Mark wraps himself a little tighter in his flannel. He finishes his beer and Johnny hands him a second without question. 

“Yo Johnny?” Mark starts hesitantly. Talking about their feelings together counts as uncharted territory. As brothers, they’re always there for each other, but more of in a silently supportive kind of way. 

“Yo Mark,” his brother parrots. 

“I guess... thanks. For doing this for me.”

Johnny glances at him. “Doing what.” 

“Aw c’mon,” Mark groans. His brother snickers at him. “You really gonna make me say it?” 

“Nah, I’m not. You don’t have to thank me for anything Mark. I’m your big brother. I look after you. It’s what I do.” 

Mark scrunches up into a tight ball his chair, tucking his chin over his arms, which are folded over his knees. In the distance, Manhattan sparkles, but somehow also feels like it’s a world away. Mark thinks he’ll always feel more comfortable on this side, sipping cheap beer in a plastic folding chair instead of cocktails in the penthouse. 

“I’m glad you came back to New York. Seriously. I missed having you around. Plus, who’s gonna fawn over me more than my little brother?” 

“Hey!” Mark yells. “I don’t _fawn_ . _Please_. Gimme a break.” 

Johnny laughs, and somehow manages to dodge the empty can Mark chucks at his head. 

-

**July**

“Do you ever think about birds?”

Mark nearly falls off his Citybike. Lucas pedals next to him, seemingly oblivious to the ridiculous nature of the question he just asked. 

“Uh, no man, not really. Should I be?”

“I’m just thinking about where they _go_.”

“To their homes, man. Their little bird homes. Wait, is this a metaphor for something?” 

Lucas cocks his head at him and nearly crashes into a girl rollerblading down the Westside highway in the opposite direction. “Sorry!” Lucas calls out after her. “No? Why would it be a metaphor? My english isn’t good enough for metaphors.” 

This, Mark believes, is a lie. But it’s Lucas, so he lets it slide. 

Ok, so before they got on their bikes, they might have split a joint in the garage of Lucas’ apartment. Mark’s world is feeling fuzzy at the edges. The colors of the city look so _beautiful_ like this, and everything seems to go by in slow motion. It’s pretty awesome. 

They land at a little park along the water (Mark, quite literally, crash landing). It’s a Monday in the middle of summer, but Mark worked at his internship all weekend and has been rewarded with the day off. Somehow, he and Lucas’ schedule has lined up, which lately is a rare occurrence. Lucas has either been working or, more frequently, flying off to meet Baekhyun somewhere. 

Taking a jet to a booty call. That’s a new one. 

Lucas sprawls out onto the grass, not giving a single fuck to his expensive clothes and the potential for grass stains. Mark flops down next to him and they watch the clouds and laugh at the kids trying to do skate tricks together. 

“How’s the sex with Baekhyun?” Mark asks at some point, trying not to sound nosey. 

“Great. He’s like... _woah_ , you know?” Mark can get the gist of that, having met the singer himself. “It’s all casual, but really fun.”

Mark bites the warning on his tongue. Lucas has shown himself capable of making better relationship decisions than Mark is. And with Lucas and Baekhyun, they’re on more of an even playing field. They probably even gave each other clear expectations. 

“When he ate my ass the first time I came so hard I thought I passed out,” Lucas drops casually. It causes Mark to start hacking and coughing. He didn’t expect that at all. “It’s not like you didn’t get up to freakier things with—”

Lucas cuts himself off awkwardly. There’s no salvaging it, so he just stops in the middle of his sentence. 

“It’s ok,” Mark tells him. “You don’t have to tiptoe around Jongin and pretend he never existed. And,” he adds, “you’re right. Eating ass is vanilla, at this point.” 

“Do you... do you wanna know about him?” Lucas rolls onto his side and Mark turns to match him, so that they’re two commas facing each other in the grass. “I haven’t seen him in a bit myself, but Baekhyun tells me things. But I don’t wanna—I won’t say a word if it’ll hurt you.” 

Mark considers it. He considers it for a long, long time. But nearly two months has taken some of the edge off the pain, and he knows that one word from Lucas will open that wound right back up again, as raw as it ever was. So he shakes his head. God knows he wants to, but it’s for the best. 

It’s not like Mark has forgotten Jongin. He couldn’t even if he tried, and he’s not trying. He thinks about him more often than is probably healthy, in fact, and has a hard time preventing himself from googling the model. He never even got around to unfollowing him on Instagram, which means that frequently Mark gets bombarded with photos of Jongin looking beautiful in magazine spreads. 

The saving grace is that there’s nothing in his feed that’s candid. Not anymore, at least. It’s only professional photos, previews of shoots, and sponsored posts. Jongin’s real personal life is opaque to Mark now, like how it is with 99% of the world. It’s strange knowing what it’s like on the other side of the veil. 

His body misses Jongin like a piece of itself has gone missing. Even now there’s always a pang of loneliness when Mark wakes up in his sublet bed alone. The physical is only half the battle; Mark also has to contend with how much he wishes he could just _talk_ to Jongin and spend an evening eating takeout with him on the couch, watching the kind of adorable Youtube videos Jongin finds so fun. 

Loneliness sucks. 

“I get that,” Lucas tells him. “Hey, are you interested in a party?” 

And when is Mark _not_ down for a party? 

The one Lucas brings him to later that night is even more than the average throwdown, because it’s held in the kind of place that you have to go through a sketchy Chinatown kitchen to get to—yes, like in the movies. Not only that, but it’s in the basement of an already hopping lounge. 

“Where the fuck did you bring me?” Mark laughs in Lucas’ arms as soon as he sees the blacklight and the people light up in fluorescents. On a second glance, maybe a blacklight isn’t the best thing to bring to a place like this. Just don’t look too hard and you’ll be good.

The music is oppressively loud, the flashing lights disorienting. That’s exactly what’s fun about parties like this, however, because within minutes Mark feels himself slip away. It’s all about becoming one with the moving, gyrating mass of people and letting loose and enjoying yourself.

They dance. Drink. Alternate. Repeat. 

Through it all, (and there’s a good chance this is the alcohol speaking, folks) Mark feels so fortunate to have people in his life like Johnny and Lucas, who put up with his post-breakup melancholy when they could be dealing with their own relationships. 

And also, he’s thankful for dance music. Because something about this base just _hits_ in the best kind of way. 

The music fills up Mark’s body, all the empty places Jongin vacated. It’s a temporary fix, but if works for right now and right now is all he needs. Especially when Lucas keeps feeding him drinks and piling glowsticks on him, like a—

“Jelly!” Lucas shouts, or tries to. It’s difficult to hear anything over the music. 

“Jellyfish!” Mark waggles his arms above his head, and this sends Lucas into a spiral of heaving laughter. 

Dancing with Lucas is fun and casual. They mostly hop around in a circle, and Lucas uses his arm span to deflect creepy randoms from getting too close to Mark. Though, he knows Lucas’ got moves. He’s seen them. 

Mark feels like he’s floating. Not from the alcohol alone, but bolstered by a weightless, joyous buoyancy that drags him up, up, up, to a place he hasn’t been all summer. 

He looks up to tell Lucas this and finds his friend spinning in circles. It’s ridiculous, but for some reason also reminds Mark’s brain that he needs to drink some water. 

“Water!” Mark screams at Lucas, only to be met with a doe-eyed stare. “Wa-ter!” he screams again in his ear. This time, Lucas nods enthusiastically. However, he doesn’t follow Mark into the throng of the crowd. Hopefully he’ll still be where Mark left him when he goes back. 

Actually, Mark’s not entirely sure _where_ he is in this underground club. The dim lights and strobes make it difficult to get any kind of bearing, and it appears as though he and Lucas migrated to a different area than they started in, like swimmers taken out by the current. 

Fortunately, the bar acts as a guiding beacon, and Mark follows the pounding rhythm of latin trap to elbow and shimmy his way through the crowd. 

He manages not to bump into anyone until he makes it to the end of the bar where there are well-placed little cups to fill from a jug. Mark’s turned his head to avoid another collision, but his legs don’t get the memo to stop. All of this results in Mark’s nose colliding with a stranger’s shoulder. 

The shoulder turns to reveal a face. A very pretty face. Asian—

“Like me,” Mark says in a daze. Ok, despite just getting out of a _thing_ with one of the most objectively attractive people on the planet, Mark is still fully capable of recognizing an attractive human being when he sees one. He’s been on a sex cleanse (yes, that’s what he’s choosing to call it), give him a break. Jongin’s impossible standards have not ruined his dick forever. 

“What?” The stranger asks. The music isn’t so loud here, but you still have to be purposeful in all attempted conversation. 

“Nothing,” Mark says. “I like your face.” 

The drinks have been flowing, but Mark is fully aware of what he’s doing when he bats his eyelashes at the pretty stranger, slides a little closer than necessary next to the water jug. Something unknowable comes over him, a weird, sudden rush of lust. Sober, he would slink off to jerk off alone. A few drinks in, he’s ready for the heat of a stranger pressed up against him. 

The stranger laughs and he has a beautiful one, along with a matching, open smile. Mark likes how _kind_ he looks. 

“Thank you, but you don’t even know my name. Are all Americans like this?” 

“I’m Korean,” Mark says reflexively. 

“You sound very American.” 

“I’m, uh, both?” 

“I’m Yuta.”

“Where’s that?” Mark asks. There’s no way Mark is going to be able to summon geographic information in the state he’s in. He’s an artist, not a cartographer. 

“No, no,” the stranger laughs again. “That’s my _name_ . I’m _from_ Japan. I’m traveling here and all over.” 

“Oh, that’s sick! Wait, uh, that means I think it’s cool! Slang! I’m Mark.” Speaking of Mark, he’s really flubbing things right now, isn’t he? Yuta doesn’t seem phased, though. If anything, he inches slightly closer to Mark. 

“Can I get you some water, Mark?” 

“Fuck, yes, thank you.” He gladly accepts the offer and forgets momentarily about the whole world while he slurps down his first cup. Then a second. “Wait, we were talking about something. Sorry, I’m drunk.” 

“I can tell,” Yuta smiles. Mark cannot believe he’s found someone willing to be so patient with him when Mark is being so _obnoxious._ “You were telling me about how attractive you found my face. Which I was enjoying, by the way.” 

“Great, because you’re hot as fuck,” Mark blurts out. 

Yuta runs a hand up Mark’s thigh. “Do you not have mirrors in America?” he asks. “Because so are you.”

“Cool.” Mark pauses as his brain and body attempt to get on the same page. “Do you want to dance?” 

Yuta’s eyes sparkle. It might just be a trick of the strobe lights. “I was thinking we could make out against the bar, actually.” 

“Oh, yeah, that definitely works.” 

Mark allows himself to get crowded up against the smooth lip of the wood behind him, Yuta’s arms on either side. It feels natural to lift his arms up and slide a hand through Yuta’s iridescent white-blonde locks. His hair is really something, especially down here in the basement. 

Yuta kisses with all kinds of purpose and intention, much like how he talks. It’s playful and not at all shy. Mark gets carried along for the ride. 

To kiss someone again feels—

The slide of a pair of lips against his own is just as intoxicating, but there’s a sour aftertaste on his tongue that can’t be shaked. And Yuta is a good kisser, slides his tongue over his bottom lip and teases his gums. He pulls him close until their bodies line up hot against each other. His arm digs into Mark’s waist the way he likes it, the way Jongin would have done. 

_Jongin._

Mark shudders fully-body when Yuta grinds up slow and dirty against Mark’s thigh. Smooth and practiced, like a dancer. Like—

It’s good, so much so that Mark is hard already, leaking in his pants, but it’s also not good. He was doing so well, floating so high, he should have known that sooner or later he was going to crash back down to reality. 

He misses Jongin. These foreign lips feel like betraying Jongin. It feels like sabotaging his own organs, a pack of menthols that burn his throat. 

Abruptly, he pushes Yuta back with two hands against the other’s chest. His heart is pounding a thousand miles a minute; it’s threatening to leap out of his chest at any moment and what Mark really needs right now is _space._

“Throw up?” Yuta questions. If this is how crazed Mark feels right now, he can’t begin to imagine how he must look. 

“Uh, no sorry, um, I have to go bring my friend water,” he says frantically. By now his fight or flight response is in full effect and he needs to find Lucas and get out, _out._ “You’re a great kisser. Sorry, gotta go.” 

With that, Mark is not ashamed to say he flees the scene. He doesn’t even bother to stick around long enough to get Lucas water, the original goal of this mission in the first place. 

Fortunately, there aren’t many tall Asian men with perfect eyebrows in the crowd that night, which means finding Lucas is thankfully easier than expected. Mark practically collides with him, and before his bearings are even set begins tugging on his shirt. 

The hysteria is creeping up on him now, compounding on the heat and chaos of the club. Fuck, is he really about to have a panic attack? Because of Jongin?

“We need to—we need to go,” Mark pants, lungs desperately trying to heave in enough air. God bless Lucas, honestly, and his uncanny ability to read people, because he doesn’t question Mark for one moment. One minute they’re standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor, and the next Lucas is leading him onto the sidewalk. 

It’s late—or maybe early—but the streets of New York still feel alive. There’s always that. It’s always been comforting to know that in this city, you’re never the only one. You’re never truly _alone._ It makes all of Mark’s problems feel diminished. So small is the face of something massive. 

Germs be damned, Mark sits his ass right down on the curb and tucks his head between his knees. Breathing is about the only thing he can focus on. The rest is too much. So he sucks in shaky breath after shaky breath. 

Lucas plops down next to him and places one of his large hands on Mark’s back to steady him. For a while they just sit like that. Lucas doesn’t need to be told what’s on Mark’s mind. 

“I didn’t think I would miss him this much,” Mark mumbles eventually. “I didn’t know it was possible. It comes at the most random times.” 

Lucas hums. “It makes sense, no? You left him even but you still loved him. You don’t have anger to blame.” 

“No,” Mark agrees. “There’s no one to blame. Myself, maybe. Should have known better.” 

“We all make mistakes. Do things we know are dumb. You’re too hard on yourself man,” Lucas says in that casual way of his.

“People tell me that.”

“They’re right and I agree with them.” 

They pause in silence. It’s not truly quiet, though, because this is New York, and constant noise is as much a part of the landscape as rats and the subway. 

Mark stands suddenly, his drunk brain protesting slightly. Without a shame in the world, he tips his head back, opens his body, and lets out a primal scream. Next to him, Lucas howls in delight and stands to join him for the next breath. 

“Ugh,” Mark laughs, shaking himself, and his emotions, off. “I can’t believe you put up with me. I promise I’m not usually this much drama.” 

“No! This is fun! _You’re_ fun. Plus,” he shrugs, “you’re allowed to be sad. People feel things. It happens.” 

People feel things. Mark tells himself to take that one to heart. 

“Dude, my stomach is gonna be outside my body tomorrow,” Mark says as they set off (read: stumble) down the block to the bodega—aka the promised land—sitting like a shining beacon of hope on the corner. Mark needs a chopped cheese _stat._ Lucas laughs like he has no idea what that means but assumes it’s a joke. 

“I’ve never puked,” the model says proudly. Mark snorts. 

“Bullshit. People who say that are either lying or haven’t tried hard enough.”

Lucas is quiet. “Wow. I never thought that I could be trying harder.” This is obviously a very real and very serious consideration all of a sudden. 

Mark slaps his abs. He does it a little too hard because he’s not paying attention and drunk, but instead of hurting Lucas any, it’s his own hand that stings. “You’ve got time. Besides, your body is a temple and all that. And by that I mean it’s the collection basket during church service. You know what I mean?”

“Nope.” 

“Your body makes the big bucks.” 

“Oh yeah! That I get. I am hot as fuck, aren’t I?” 

Mark doubles over in laughter in the middle of the road. They do make it to the bodega eventually, though. Lucas pets the cat lounging on bags of rice as Mark studies Funyuns flavors. 

-

**August**

Lay always has an easy, laidback air about him. It’s deceitful, however, because in all actuality his boss is one of the hardest working people Mark knows. The elder would brush it off, but he’s been a huge source of inspiration and even further, encouragement, to Mark this summer. 

But now it’s almost over. August has hit New York hard, with record-breaking, sweltering heats that make the city seem like it’s boiling. Mark has sought countless hours of refuge inside Lay’s production studio; without Johnny’s roof, he would have been just as pale as at the start of the summer by the end. 

They’re sitting together now, Lay’s playlist pumping quietly through the speakers. Lay is a big believer in perpetual background music to soundtrack his life. They both have their separate projects—Lay for a pop-up going up next month, and Mark is chugging away on his personal baby. 

It’s weird to think of it being almost done. He’s been working on it for the past three months, putting the pieces together just right. It’s about desire. Hunger. Pain, the quiet kind. It’s about Jongin, if he’s being completely honest. Only, he enlisted Lucas—and his abs, more precisely—to play the part. 

The only thing left to do is finish cutting in the music, then fiddle with the mixing until he’s mostly satisfied. One of the biggest lessons of the summer is accepting that no creative project is _finished_ or perfect. You just have to get it to a point where you’re satisfied. 

“Done?” Lay asks quietly. Mark peers up from his station to see Lay’s heavy gaze fixed on him. 

“Almost,” Mark answers. “Want to see?” 

Quietly, he congratulates himself for offering. Lay rolls over in his wheelie chair. In late afternoons he can be found constantly spinning in that thing. They watch in silence, Mark only speaking to fill in the gaps where necessary. Then they sit in silence for longer when it’s over. 

“This is very, very good.” 

And Mark? Mark absolutely _glows_. 

“You think?” He asks, and tries not to sound too excited. Of course, because he’s flustered his voice cracks a bit at the end.

“I wouldn’t tell you that if I didn’t think so,” Lay says. Which, true. His boss is a perfectionist, often to the detriment of Mark’s sleep schedule. “Have you considered submitting this anywhere?” 

“Uhhhhh,” Mark’s brain stalls. Honestly, throughout the entire creation process, he didn’t once think about _doing_ anything with it. He made it simply because it felt like something that had to happen, something that needed to come out of his body and be heard. 

Lay smiles. “I’ll take that as a no. I know some shows with open student categories. I’ll send you the list. No pressure, duh, but you should really think about it. 

“Ok,” Mark says firmly, confidence blooming in his chest. “I will.” 

-

Jongin looks incredible, otherworldly, in Gucci. He knows that. The whole world knows it. And apparently he’s spent the past few months working out, because looking at the cover spread in _Paper_ , Jongin has his abs out and is looking as slim and fit as Mark’s ever seen him. 

He selfishly prefers _his_ Jongin, a touch softer, to this. 

But _fuck_ if he doesn’t look hot. 

Laying in his bed in the dark, the only source of light being the harsh glow of his phone screen, Mark’s hand wanders to the waistband of his thin boxers. It’s too hot to be wearing anything else, is his justification. 

There’s no lube or lotion within reach, so Mark uses his spit. He already feels dirty and wrong doing this, so what’s a little burn to top it off? 

When he touches himself, Jongin is in front of his face and behind his eyelids. The _Paper_ photos are there, ready and available to be drooled over, as Mark’s sure thousands are doing right now, but Mark has his own private, mental collection of material to draw back on. He wasn’t kidding when he told Lucas eating ass was just the beginning. 

Mark pumps himself a few times just to get started. At the base of his neck he can nearly feel Jongin’s breath against him, as if he were standing behind Mark and guiding him in all the ways he wanted him to move.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this. It’s always at night when thoughts of Jongin creep up on him and catch him unguarded, doubly so when he’s horny. Which is like, most of the time. Their hands are different, but if Mark closes his eyes he can allow himself to pretend. 

It’s Jongin’s thumb that presses at the head of his cock, Jongin’s fingers traveling down, down, to brush feather-light against his balls. It’s not Mark’s fist that muffles his moans, but Jongin’s lips. If he were here, he'd laugh into it, enjoying how flustered and hard Mark is. 

Mark dips one finger down further, sliding between his ass cheeks and brushing over his hole. He jumps and moans from the sensation and does it again, again. He’s been avoiding touching himself this way, in this spot. But fuck it feels good, and it feels ten times better when he starts to imagine that’s it’s Jongin fingers playing with his tiny hole. 

In his hand, Mark’s cock spurts precome, mixing with the slide and slick on his shaft. He melts further down into the pillows, until he’s on his side, one hand reaching through his legs, surrounded by warmth. 

Initially, he only pulled his boxers down far enough to get his dick out, but he kicks them all the way off now. They’re a far cry from the panties he wore for Jongin, and the memory sends Mark into another spiral. He picks up the pace with his hand, fucking into his too-dry fist until the burn hurts in the most delicious way. 

He bites down on the nearest pillow in reach. His sublet roommates aren’t as forgiving to these kinds of antics as Yangyang. 

Oh—an idea. 

With the kind of determination only a teenage boy could have, Mark _does not_ think about where this pillow has been when he straddles it. When his cock slides against the cotton he does moan out loud, impossible to stay quiet when the soft fabric slides across his sensitive nerves. 

The smooth glide alone might not be enough to get him off as he ruts against it. But he knows what will; with fumbling hands, he finds the _Paper_ photoshoot again, locking in on Kai Kim making perfect bedroom eyes at him. 

In his mind, Jongin really is only a few feet away from him, watching him get off like the pathetic slut he is. So desperate for Jongin and his dick he’s humping a pillow for it. 

_“My baby’s so needy,”_ imaginary Jongin says, a cruel lilt to his voice. It only makes Mark work harder. _“Too bad he’s been naughty. And when he’s been bad, my dumb baby needs to be punished.”_

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark pants under his breath. He’s close now. The pillowcase is ruined—already soaked and filthy with his precome. Whatever, it’s from Target anyways. 

In the delirious moments at the peak of his buildup, when Mark is a trembling mess and his dick is so hard it’s hurting, he has the insane thought to call Jongin. He’d pick up, he knows that. If he just hears Jongin’s voice, that will be enough to make him cum. 

_“You wanna come?”_ God, in his mind, Jongin is right on top of him, teasing him mercilessly but never touching. _“You wanna hump that pillow pretending it’s me? Oh baby, you’re so cute when you’re leaking for me. Fine then, cum. Cum, baby.”_

Mark does, biting into his bottom lip hard enough that it will definitely bruise tomorrow. Overall, though, it’s a fairly unsatisfying orgasm. Donghyuck’s advice is that he needs to get laid for real, but well, the memory of his embarrassing encounter with Yuta a few weeks back is still fresh in his memory. Mark’s still at the point where he probably couldn’t get through a one-night stand without crying. 

The pillowcase is indeed fucked, but instead of dealing with it properly Mark chooses to strip it off and toss it to the floor to deal with tomorrow. 

Summer is almost over. NYU move-in is only two weeks away, and following quickly after that, the beginning of fall. His final two semesters—that should be exhilarating, shouldn’t it?

But all Mark wants to do is sleep. 

Green Day, eat your fucking heart out. 

-

**September**

_“You’re in,”_ Lay’s voice says, sounding distant and fuzzy on the other end of the line. Mark presses his face closer to the screen, as if that’ll help. 

“What?” Mark says. He needs that to be repeated. Yangyang looks so curious he’s physically leaning closer across the table, and Mark has to shoo him off. Even Mark’s gentrified salad from Sweetgreen is interested. 

_“You’re in,”_ Lay repeats. _“The show accepted your series. Loey is a friend of mine, so he called me first knowing you’re my intern. Don’t worry though, the judging was blind. This was all you.”_

“Fuck man, thanks so much.” Something is trembling in his chest. He doesn’t exactly know how to get the feelings he’s experiencing out, along with the overwhelming sense of gratitude. “You know I couldn’t—

_“Have done it without me? Yes you could have, Mark. You’re talented. All you needed was the right push. Congrats again. I’ll see you at the opening.”_

“Holy shit,” Mark breathes when they hang up. “Holy fucking shit.” 

“What? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph _what?”_ Yangyang begs, his own lunch forgotten. “I’m literally going to keel over if you don’t tell me right now.” 

“I’m having—”

“A baby!? When the fuck did you turn straight?” Yangyang screeches. 

“Jesus, what? No! I’m having a piece of mine in a show, like, a multimedia one. That was my summer boss, he just called to congratulate me.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome! Incredible! Much better than a baby. I knew you could do it.” 

“Remind me to never try and tell you something heartwarming, like, ever.” 

“Whatever. Anyways, congrats. Would you like a party, too?” Yangyang gives him such a shit-eating grin, Mark nearly jumps across the table to strangle him. But they’re best friends, so he manages not too. Anyways, as always, he’s going to need his help picking out what to wear. 

_Actually,_ Mark thinks approximately two and a half weeks later, _I regret everything._

“Yangyang,” he says slowly. “This is a show opening, not the Bachelor. Not the club. I need to look, I dunno, artsy, not like I’m looking for a husband with my ass.” 

“Hey!” Yangyang waggles a finger at him. “Never take for granted fucking opportunities. The first time I met Hendery, it was at Student Health. I had an ear infection, he had a broken finger. Was I discouraged by not being able to hear out of one ear? Absolutely not. Now look at us.” 

Mark rolls his eyes. “Spare me. It’s not like you fucked in the bathroom at Student Health. It took you like, four months to get together for real.” 

Yangyang levels a stare at him. He looks absolutely ridiculous with half of Mark’s closet spread out around him, like some kind of fucked up fairy-godmother halo. “No, only one of us has fucked in the bathroom upon meeting someone.” 

At least Yangyang has the decency to look guilty after saying that. They banter, but don’t mean any harm by it.

“It’s cool,” Mark tells his best friend honestly. 

“Still, I shouldn’t have said that. I know it’s a sore topic.” It—Jongin—does still hurt, but it’s more of a bruise than anything. Mark’s not ready to call it a scar. Still, it’s touching that Yangyang cares. 

No, he hasn’t deleted Jongin’s number. Because Mark likes to torture himself, when he’s laying in bed awake late at night, it’s nice to scroll through the old messages. 

“Hey, don’t be such a downer,” Mark chirps. “Weren’t you so hellbent on getting me ready?” 

“Duh. Now let me work my magic.” 

This time, Mark doesn’t need someone to give him the tickets. He gets in on his own merit, thank you very much. He doesn’t even need to borrow a fancy jacket. Though now, he understands that gifts like that can be just as much a gesture of goodwill than as some kind of _exchange._ He just wishes he’d realized it sooner. 

In September, months out from leaving Jongin behind in Mexico, Mark’s feelings have tempered considerably. The love is still there—because you don’t stop caring about someone when you decide to go—but the resentment has faded. Time heals all wounds, and all that. 

Of course he’s still drawn to Jongin; a moth to his impossibly bright flame. 

The gallery helps Mark think he’s moving on, although his piece is anything but. It centers around lust and love, and Mark has only ever been _in love_ once before. The male body features heavily in it—and naturally, he wasn’t about to ask to shoot Jongin, so he got a stand in. Lucas had been all too happy to help.

Is it about Jongin, though? Yes, of course.

Would Mark admit that to anyone who asked, besides perhaps the man himself?

What do you think? 

Like what most of Mark does, it’s multimedia. His section takes up the entirety of the back wall of the gallery—admittedly, not a large space. It’s even smaller than that one in Soho from nearly a year back. Lucas, bare-chested, moves back and forth between three screens, each one changing slightly and representing a different emotion. In one, it’s love. In another, it’s playful. In the third, they’re fighting. 

Mark tries not to gnaw on his thumb as he anxiously watches people pick up the headphones attached to the wall and listen to the accompanying tracks he poured his heart and soul into. 

Are artists supposed to do this all the time? Mark would much prefer the safety of the studio right about now. 

Lay comes by right as the space is opening, clasps Mark firmly on the shoulder in congratulations. He doesn’t bring flowers, exactly, but does pin a delicate enamel rose onto Mark’s collar. It’s a very Lay thing to do. But when he leaves (Lay, too, isn’t fond of crowds), Mark is all alone. People come up to congratulate him, but for the most part, he’s hovering, pounding tiny champagne flutes and bruschetta.

Maybe at some point he learned to ignore the whispers—his own and others. But he doesn’t notice them, doesn’t get the hint that something is Happening until he catches sight of a blur in the corner of his eye and turns to look.

Oh. 

Jongin is here. 

He looks—

The first thing Mark feels is confusion. One, of course, because why would Jongin be here? 

_(Why would he be here for any reason other than Mark?)_

Two, this is supposed to be Jongin’s element. The kind of people he knows and is comfortable enough around. But Mark knows now that was all a mask—Jongin hiding behind Kai Kim. Now, today, in this very real moment happening outside Mark’s dreams, Jongin looks distinctly uncomfortable. 

Obviously, he knows Mark is here. He’s trying very hard to look but not look like he is, and failing. It’s rare that Jongin fails at anything, but here he is, looking like more of an awkward teenager Mark could ever imagine him being. 

Still, though, he looks so lovely. Nothing could change that about Jongin. 

How does Mark feel? His heart has currently migrated and is pounding in his throat. Just looking at Jongin dulls all his other senses. But he’s not nervous. His defenses are down, but they don’t need to be up. 

He wants to believe all the hurt is behind them. 

What’s ahead depends on evening, on whether Jongin approaches him or not. 

In the end, all Mark has to do is wait. They circle around each other in vain for the first fifteen minutes, and it’s difficult to ignore how Jongin keeps dodging getting caught up in conversations with other people.

So Mark stands before his own work and just waits. 

Jongin settles beside him, two feet away. Before either of them can open their mouths, though, a woman in a shirt so low cut it stretches the definition of what can _be_ a shirt saddles up between them. Mark considers taking the opportunity to flee, but he feels rooted to the spot. 

_“Hello_ there Kai. Do you remember me? We met at that after party a few weeks ago? At first I thought you were so gloomy standing in the corner alone, but then I realized the depth of a man who broods. What do you say we—”

“I’m sorry,” Jongin says in a tone far removed from his typical politeness. He doesn’t even look at the woman—he’s looking right at Mark. “I’m speaking with a dear friend of mine right now. Please go away.” 

Victory swells high in Mark’s chest. The woman slinks away to nurse her wounds.

“Your piece is the best one here.” Jongin smiles softly, all of his attention back on Mark. “I’m not just saying that. Lucas is a good actor.” 

“What’re you doing here?” Mark asks. He allows himself to look at Jongin when he speaks. It’s a dumb question, though. The answer is obvious, because Jongin’s talked to no one else, hasn’t even glanced in anyone else’s direction. 

“I wanted to see what you did over the summer,” Jongin says plainly. He’s more shy about the admission afterwards. “I wanted... to see if there was evidence of us.”

“Oh.” Mark looks away. Jongin came to look out for his own reputation—he should have sent his manager instead. Disappointment would taste bitter on his tongue if he’d allowed himself to get that far, dare to hope that much. 

“No, fuck.” Jongin reaches out and grasps Mark’s wrist. To prevent him from running away _(again),_ maybe. It’s only his imagination, but the contact feels like it burns, skin lighting up in all the places he and Jongin touch. “I did that all wrong. I wanted to see if there was evidence you missed me. That you—loved me.” 

Of everything, love is the thing holding Mark’s series together. The images on screen are of lust, but everything is dipped in the rosy sheen of love. And there’s the craft, too, the hours and hours that went into it and all the emotions Mark had, had for Jongin, poured into this end result. 

Mark doesn’t know how Jongin found out about it, but it makes sense he’d want to see it.

“Of course,” Mark tells him. There’s no use hiding when he put all of his emotions into something on display anyways. “I never _stopped_ loving you. That’s what made it so hard.” He pauses. Asks much, much quieter. “Was it hard for you too?”

Mark can see it now, up close. It has been. It’s what’s making Jongin so nervous being here, so uncomfortable in his body for once. It’s in the way he’s dressed, too, half like Jongin and half like Kai, like he couldn’t quite decide how he was going to present himself. How he wanted Mark to see him. 

“Yeah,” Jongin croaks. “God, yes, it was hard.”

This is not a good place to talk. This is not where this conversation _should_ be happening. But they never played by those kinds of rules to begin with. 

“I spent a lot of time trying to understand how you felt,” Jongin continues. His hand has stayed cradling Mark’s wrist. The burn is still there, but more than anything now, it’s comforting. “Before, I was angry. I was lonely. I could hide behind stronger emotions. But this time, it took you being away from me to get in my head about us. You did the right thing, Mark. Do I miss you like I miss my own _lungs?_ Yes. Yes, everyday. But we—I needed to be able to think.” 

“Did you... did you find your answers?” 

Jongin steps in close to Mark. Cups his cheek. Their breath mingles. People are watching, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t _care._ God, it feels so right to be here with Jongin, just like this.

“I had a _lot_ of time to think this summer. All of them were about you. I wanted you so badly, Mark, but I was scared. I was the kind of coward I never wanted to be, who put their career over what was really important.

“I should have paid more attention. This summer was terrible for me. I wanted so badly to make a fake account to follow you, but I realized that would be more of what you hate. You’re so brilliant Mark, and I wanted the world to see it so badly. I overstepped in that sense, but let everything else hang in limbo. It was unfair. I’m so sorry for it.

“We never got to talking about the big stuff. Because of that. I never told you I love you back. Can I, now?” 

Oh. Mark is weightless. His heart doesn’t just skip a beat but stops althoughter. “Only if you mean it.” 

Jongin smiles. His eyes crinkle at the corners. Mark can’t prevent himself from smiling back, the biggest one in months. “I do. Do you still—”

“Yes. Say it,” he breathes.

“I love you,” Jongin says in Korean. He repeats it again in every language he knows how and punctuates them all with a kiss, in front of the crowd, recording phones, and the world. Anyone. “I love you, Mark. I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

-

It’s impossible to tell who reaches out first, but the moment the bathroom door is closed, they’re on top of each other. Mark pushes Jongin up against the door and they scramble for the lock, fingers tumbling fumbling for it together. It’s difficult, because Mark is trying to kiss the life out of Jongin, pull him down to his level, and secure the lock all at once. 

Jongin’s lips are like heaven. Even though the kiss is messy, and Mark’s there’s too much teeth it sends his mind into a fever, chest heaving with a desire so potent he feels dizzy from it. 

He wants everything. He wants more of Jongin’s teeth toying playfully at his bottom lip, more of his tongue sliding lewd and wet over his own. Mark keen’s in Jongin’s bruising hold and the elder takes the opportunity to suck Mark’s tongue into his mouth.

Spit drips down Mark’s chin. This must be the filthiest he’s ever felt, maybe except for—

“Reminds me of the first time,” he pants. Jongin crowds against him until Mark is arching against the door, the burn so good, their pelvis’ pressed together and a leg is inserted in the heated spot between Mark’s thighs. Jongin tips their foreheads together and smiles. He looks so happy. The euphoria is contagious. 

“It’s different,” Jongin muses. “I want you five times as much now.” 

“Prove it,” Mark breathes, tilting his head up, arching his neck in a way that creates the perfect canvas for Jongin to explore. That, he does. 

Jongin doesn’t go easy. He sucks and bites his way down Mark’s neck, each time he explores a new spot drawing a new set of moans from Mark’s lips. They’re in the bathroom, but he doesn’t care. He was Jongin back in his arms, and now, he can let the entire world know it. 

“You’re mine,” Mark blurts out. His stomach tightens with arousal when he says it. 

“Yours,” Jongin moans back. He sucks a particularly brutal hickey onto Mark’s neck, too high for any collar to cover. “And you’re mine. Gonna show—gonna let everyone know it. Show them how pretty my baby is.” 

Mark’s body is charged in a way that it’s never been before. Possessiveness was something so beyond his grasp for so long, but now that he can lay claim to it, it turns him on like nothing else. He’ll wear these marks with pride. Yangyang is going to say he’s so _smug._

 _Fuck,_ Mark can bite him now and leave all kinds of bruises. That’s amazing.

So he does. He pushes his nose along Jongin’s jaw, enjoying the way the older man tilts his head up so obediently to give Mark a better angle. He keens under Mark’s hand and mouth. He sucks and bits all along the golden column of Jongin’s neck, leaving tiny red splotches and sucking dark bruises that he knows will keep. 

Mark will consider pissing off Jongin’s makeup artist a big win. 

Jongin grinds against him again, and Mark’s hard on is becoming increasingly urgent, especially when he can feel Jongin hard in his own slacks. 

This moment may bear passing resemblance to their first encounter, but Mark is empowered with a confidence that took those eleven months to grow, evaporate, and appear once more. He runs his hands up the inside of Jongin’s shirt, the other gasping at the contact, and rakes his nails gently down Jongin’s still perfect abs. Soon, Jongin is pushing his hands aside to give Mark the same treatment. 

“Touch me more,” Mark pleads. He needs Jongin touching him. Needs it. And Jongin does, pushing the shirt blocking his path up to Mark’s armpits. Exposed, Mark shivers and twitches. And he cries out when Jongin bends down to suck one nipple into his mouth, always so sensitive. 

_“Aaaaah!”_ Mark cries out when Jongin moves to give the other side attention. The small nud is hard in his mouth, and it makes Jongin think, wouldn’t it be nice if they were like this all the time?

Flicking Mark’s nipples with his thumbs, he says, “We should get you your nipples pierced.” Mark jerks in response, and his head bangs loudly against the door. 

Jongin is there, though, changing so fast from sexy to caring. He cradles Mark’s head, pouding with momentary pain, and pulls him back in for soothing kisses. He pulls them away from the door as one unit, instead drawing Mark towards the counter next to the sink. 

They pause there, distracted by the warm promise of kisses. 

“Mmmmmh,” Jongin hums. He sounds oh-so pleased with himself. “Love you. Love your kisses.” 

It makes Mark dizzy, the knowledge that from now on he gets to hear Jongin say things to him casually. 

But also, Mark’s dick is so hard it’s hurting him. Pointedly, he drags Jongin’s hand down to the front of his pants, and the other laughs into his mouth indulgently. 

“You’re so hard, baby,” he teases. This, too, Mark has missed. That edge of humiliation that gets all the blood in his body pumping and heart pounding. _Other_ things pounding, too. 

“Please Jongin,” he chokes out. When he tries to push his hips up Jongin’s hand retreats in turn, so that his touch is just barely brushing and teasing Mark’s dick. “Please, fuck, please.” 

“What do you want?” Jongin says low in Mark’s ear. “So dirty, baby, begging for me in the bathroom where anyone could hear?” 

“Want them to.” Mark arches his neck further, trying to tempt Jongin into biting down. He doesn’t take the bait. “Anything Nini. Anything.” 

This confession, it seems, is what Jongin has been after all along, because as soon as the words fall from Mark’s lips Jongin is back and grinding up into him full force and swallowing his moans with his lips. 

“I want you to take off your pants and show off your pretty hole to me,” comes Jongin’s honey croon. Mark’s face flushes red. Jongin kisses his cheek. “Cute. Here, I’ll help you get started.” He pops the button of Mark’s pants and undoes the zipper torturously slow. 

Then he stops. 

Mark looks up at him in desperation. He’s been biting his lip, and the places where his teeth dig into sting. But Jongin gives him nothing, just a confident smile because he _knows_ that Mark wants to be good. He’ll do exactly what Jongin wants. 

Fuck. It’s true, it’s completely true. 

His pants come off first. Mark waits until he’s turned around and bent nearly completely over the counter to drag his underwear down, too. Watching Jongin while doing this—it would just be too much. But the sharp intake of breath when Mark stands there fully on display is unmistakable. 

That’s so good. Mark wants that as his ringtone, wants to hear it for the rest of his life. _That’s_ how good. Mark’s dick twitches, and he can feel the drops of precome bead at the tip that will soon drop to the floor. 

“So pretty,” Jongin breathes. There’s more emotion there than just arousal. It’s more than just sex; now they both know it. He reaches out and grabs a handful of Mark’s ass, pulling the flesh away and watching it bounce lewdly back into place. “Tell me, have you been touching yourself here without me?” 

“No,” Mark gasps. And it’s the truth. It’s all the truth—no way he can lie to Jongin. Not now, not ever. “Doesn’t—didn’t feel the same.” 

Jongin is on him after that, his taller and broader body curving over Mark. They lock eyes in the mirror. At least Jongin looks as blown-out as Mark does. A tiny bottle of lotion sitting on the counter is opened and spread onto Jongin’s hand, which he uses to start slowly pumping Mark’s dick. 

Already, his abs are clenching. If Jongin told him to, Mark could probably come here and now. But there’s still more, more he wants. 

Jongin’s other hand slides between his cheeks and Mark has to bite down on his own fist to keep from screaming. _This_ feels better than good. Just being touched by Jongin has every nerve on fire. And Jongin’s not even fingering him, not actually, just teasing his fingers around the rim. 

“Please Nini, fuck me, please,” Mark begs. He wants to drop his head, and his shoulders are trembling, but Jongin’s dark eyes staring at him over his shoulder are hypnotic. 

“You want it here?” Jongin bucks his hips forward, obviously fully hard in his own pants, grinding against Mark’s hole. 

“Yes!” Mark sobs. 

Suddenly, Jongin bites down on Mark’s shoulder over his shirt, hard. Hard enough where Mark actually cries out in pain, followed immediately by a rush of pleasure so intense he can feel his dick pulsing, hot and heavy, in Jongin’s palm. 

“Greedy baby, want me to give it to you even in the bathroom. Do you think you could take my dick this, no prep, stretching your little hole out so much? Could you take that?” 

“Anything, please,” Mark trembles. There are tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes, each of Jongin’s words building more and more heat inside his gut. “Even the tip. Your fingers, anything.” 

As it happens, Jongin doesn’t give him any of that. He ends up pulling his own pants down enough to get his dick out and uses Mark’s ass to get off just like that, sliding between his cheeks and catching on the rim every so often and it drives Mark _insane._

The grip Jongin has in his hair is brutual, but fuck, that’s just what Mark wants. Just what he likes, not only does Jongin know it, but wants just as much to give it to him. This is his way of saying _I want to make this amazing for you._

Even though Mark isn’t getting fucked right now, it _is_ amazing, because he has Jongin’s hands on him and all of Jongin’s attention, which is all he’s ever wanted to begin with. And they’re so in love, he can see that clear as day reflected in the mirror. It’s a feeling Mark wants to wrap himself up in forever. 

Jongin gives him his hand to scream into when he comes, too. 

“Mark, Mark,” Jongin pants in his ear. He’s so close, too. 

“Can I—” 

“Anything,” Jongin says, just like Mark before. 

Mark doesn’t even know _what_ he wants, exactly, but he knows he wants to be close to Jongin, to, _fuck,_ inhale all that he can. So he drops to his knees and pushes his face close to Jongin’s crotch, his weeping cock. 

He feels out of his mind, out of his body in some post-orgasm Neverland, so he’s not thinking when he trails his mouth lower, drifting down to Jongin’s balls. He sucks the soft flesh into his mouth, one and then the other. Jongin makes the most beautiful wounded sound, too.

Down here, Jongin smells like musk and sweat, like his perfect, strong dancer. Mark loves it. He loves it so much. 

When he flicks his eyes up, Jongin comes instantaneously. But he doesn’t close his eyes, which means Mark gets to enjoy every moment of his orgasm, even if some of the cum gets in his hair. It’ll be a bitch to clean out, but the expression on Jongin’s face is always, _always_ going to be worth it. 

They have more to talk about. A lot more to talk about, but they’re not going to shove it under the bed this time. They’ll talk and create a new arrangement, one that looks and sounds a lot like _boyfriends._ It’s hard to focus on that, though, when Jongin is kissing and caressing him so tenderly as he tries to clean Mark up. 

“Do you want a getting-back-together gift?” Jongin says, only half joking. 

“Yes,” Mark demands, dragging Jongin back to him. It takes him a while to get his request out though, mouth otherwise occupied with further bruising Jongin’s lips. “You, all of you.” 

“Silly,” Jongin laughs. “You can’t ask for something you already have.” 

(For the record: later, because Jongin asks, Mark takes him back to his dorm room. He and Yangyang landed in a suite this year, so mercifully he has his own room. They make love, properly, in Mark’s tiny twin xl, slow and sweet with lots of kisses. Possibly a world-record amount. It’s fucking perfect.) 

-

**October (Again)**

Nothing compares to this. Of the millions of good things on the planet, this is Mark’s favorite—naked, splayed out and sweating for Jongin on the bed they share more nights than not. Mark’s dick, resting hard and heavy on his thigh. 

And his thighs, speaking of, shaking in anticipation. 

Jongin is stripping for him—putting on a show. It’s a new trick he learned. Sometimes, when he knows that Mark is in class or in the office with Lay, he’ll send him a video of him just swiveling his hips in his tight boxers, showing off all the angles of his fat bulge in the mirror. Or he’ll be on the bed, the same one Mark lays on now, with the phone propped up on the nightstand as he rolls his hips sensuously against the sheets, moaning Mark’s name. 

The videos are one thing. Seeing it all in person is another. 

Jongin has a body that’s out of this world gorgeous, and he knows it and knows how to use it. Today’s soundtrack is Daniel Caesar. 

Mark is positioned at the end of the bed, legs hanging over the side. It’s the perfect place to watch, and should Jongin choose to do so, within reach of touching. “Sit still, baby,” Jongin had told him, devilish grin wide. 

He’d begun with his pants, just undoing the top button of his light wash jeans so that the thick band of his briefs peeks through. Those damn Calvin Kleins again. But then he’d gone for his shirt, lifting the hem above his navel and Mark watched as his abs rippled with every sensuous roll and wave. 

Now, Jongin’s shirt is undone completely, hanging off his shoulders in a way that frames him perfectly, making the scene ever dirtier. Mark’s eyes don’t know where to settle, so he doesn’t, instead raking his eyes up and down the other’s body, trying to devour it on sight alone. 

Jongin’s lower lip catches between his teeth. He has trouble admitting it, but he loves being watched like this, hard from his dick to his nipples. Mark watching him come undone. 

The way Jongin dances, if the devil himself saw him he’d stop and watch. 

When Daniel Caesar starts to sing about fucking, Jongin grabs his crotch through his jeans and moans, just loud enough to be heard over the music. Mark swears under his breath. Jongin slides closer to him, and closer, until he’s standing between Mark’s open legs. 

Sex incarnate is standing right in front of him, and the beads of sweat forming on Jongin’s abs are so tempting, but Mark tips his head up to look Jongin in the eye. 

The expression he gets is mushy. God, they’re so in love it’s disgusting. 

“Take them off for me, please?” Jongin breathes, guiding Mark’s hand gently to a belt loop. It’s the perfect mix of faux-innocence and seduction. Mark tugs his jeans down and Jongin’s mouth drops open so slightly. It reveals a hint of Jongin’s pink tongue. Teasing. Mark itches to chase it, with his fingers maybe.

But as soon as Jongin’s jeans are down far enough he’s backing off again, making quick work of them himself. Down to just his underwear Jongin’s arousal is clear as day, from the bulge straining against the smooth fabric, a dark spot already forming on the front. 

Jongin gives Mark his cavalier grin, the one he makes in photoshoots, before turning and pressing his hands against the wall. Over his shoulder, he says, “take your phone out.”

God. God damnit. Mark fumbles, but gets it recording. Jongin rolls his hips in slow circles to start. He gets gradually more into it, and each rotation has him pressing his ass out further. Showing off. Grinding against the wall. 

“Are you thinking it’s me?” Mark asks. His own voice trembles with the force of his own want. He’s achingly hard in his own jeans, the unforgiving fabric starting to hurt. Jongin moans in response. His forearms go to the wall and his back arches further. He’s fully on display, now. When he turns his head, Mark can see how desperate his expression is—closed eyes and wide lips. 

“Always you,” Jongin gasps out. How long can he keep this going, the tease without any friction? 

As if to answer Mark’s question, Jongin reaches a hand behind himself and begins to toy with the waistband of his briefs. Just a finger, at first. Nothing searching, but aimlessly sliding back and forth under the elastic. Then two. He hooks them in firm and just for a few seconds pulls the briefs down to give Mark the best picture all night—the perfect cleft of Jongin’s ass. Mark salivates at the thought of getting onto his knees, begging Jongin to ride his face and get his hole loose and wet. 

Impossibly, it gets even better, because for just a second, Jongin pushes his briefs down further and teases Mark with just the barest hint of something shiny and metal plugging his hole. 

Just as quickly as that taste came, it’s gone. Jongin spins around with the music, because this is a dance, after all. He pushes his hair back from his forehead in a way that’s artfully sexy in the only way Jongin can be. When they lock eyes, Mark feels like he’s been electrocuted. From a look alone, pleasure races up his spine.

And this is just the beginning. 

One hand finds Jongin’s pec, swirling around his nipple following the face of his turning hips. The other dips lower, creeping towards the place they both want it to go. Mirroring his actions from the back, Jongin uses one hand to tease the waistband lower again. Here, Mark gets a tease of Jongin’s neatly groomed pubic hair that still smells so much of _him,_ so much of a man. 

Before, it was hot. Being able to look Jongin in the eyes, though, is overheating Mark’s brain.

He whimpers, bucking his hips up into nothing. His cock aches for attention in his jeans. The first _please_ itches to get past Mark’s lips. That’s what Jongin wants, but it doesn’t mean it will get Mark anything. 

Mercifully, the song is tapering out. One, twice, in rhythm with sharp snare beats, Jongin cups himself fully and bucks up into his hand like he means it. Just how he does when he’s fucking Mark good and hard. 

“Fuck,” Mark moans, broken. The recording falls to the wayside. _“Nini._ Need you.”

“You have me,” Jongin answers simply. He climbs over Mark’s lap. “You were so good baby, sitting pretty there for me. I think you deserve an award.” 

“Please,” he does say this time.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to beg yet,” Jongin says against his lips. _Yet._

He licks into Mark’s mouth long and filthy. There’s too much tongue and spit but it’s great, it’s perfect, it feeds a fire deep in the pit of Mark’s gut that has him rolling up into Jongin to chase more. He can feel the older’s hard dick pressing into his stomach and it’s driving him insane. 

“Let’s get your clothes off.” Mark follows the suggestion quickly, and together they free him from the confine of his jeans. It brings him instant pleasure that he arches up into. Jongin notices it, tuned into everything Mark does; as soon as he has Mark settled leaning back on his elbows on the bed he leans over him, smirking. 

Sinfully the older man grinds down on Mark. The way their clothed crotches move against each other has them both moaning. Mark can feel the heat—he wants to wrap his hand around it. 

But right now, Jongin is in charge. And Mark trusts him to make it good. So he allows himself to fall back against the sheets and ride the waves. 

“Feel good?” Jongin asks, rolling his hips again and again. 

“Mmmmh,” Mark mumbles. With Jongin’s hands skimming over him, his body feels loose and warm, reality getting fuzzy around the edges. Jongin continues to murmur filthy things in his ear, against his stomach, hands tracking his ribs and sometimes squeezing. 

“I could make you cum just like this,” Jongin says. It’s not a question. “But that’s not what you want, is it?” 

“Want you, Nini,” Mark says with heavy eyes. He’s not tired, but he feels lulled into a safe, content place but for the shocks of pleasure racing up from his dribbling cock. He reaches a hand up and Jongin leans his cheek into it, kisses Mark’s palm tenderly. 

“Do you? Do you really?” Jongin asks, and just like that, the tone has changed again. Jongin presses down on the base of Mark’s stomach without warning, the cradle of his pelvis just above the first curls of his public hair. 

“Oh fuck!” Mark’s dick just and for one blinding moment, he thinks he’s going to cum. Just from that. Jongin, curse him, huffs out a laugh. And then he presses down again. 

Mark’s legs kick out, but there’s no use struggling under Jongin’s weight. Not that Mark wants to get free anyways. It’s not pleasure, exactly, and it’s not pain, but the pressure against his navel is intense in a way he’s not equipped to handle. 

His hands twist uselessly in the sheets, that is, until Jongin wraps both his wrists up in his free hand and holds them over Mark’s head. Like this, Mark is helpless. Jongin can do whatever he wants. 

“God you’re beautiful,” Jongin says in wonder. “So perfect, splayed out desperately for me. You’d do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you, pretty slut.” 

Mark keens. He would, he _would._

He lets out a little cry, of frustration, relief, or anticipation it’s hard to say, when Jongin climbs off his lap and settles between the open v of his thighs. Mark laughs breathlessly when the model hoists him up by the hips, positioning Mark so that his shoulders still rest on the best but his ass his high in the air 

Jongin takes his time groping Mark’s ass. He’s close enough that Mark can anticipate what comes next; hot breath ghosts over Mark’s cock, now spreading a wet spot across his underwear, his balls, his hole. His toes curl and beside Jongin’s ears his knees shake. 

Mark, so exposed and powerless in the position, can only plead with his eyes, otherwise helpless. So this is what Jongin meant by he didn’t have to beg _yet._

“Hyung,” he whines. “Hyung, hyung, hyung. Please— _ahhh!”_ He’s distracted when Jongin presses a kiss through the cotton to his hole. “Lick me out please. Fuck me with your tongue.” 

Jongin grins at him, so confident and in his element, but it’s not cocky. The love is there in his eyes, easy to see. 

“Why baby?” He asks as he leans his face closer to where Mark wants him to be. He can feel his hole fluttering. Jongin’s thumb is so close to his rim. “Why would I do that when I know my slut is already stretched and ready for me?” With his thumb, Jongin pushes against the base of the buttplug he knows is inside Mark, that’s been torturing him all evening. 

Quickly, Jongin strips off the rest of Mark’s clothes. He kisses his ankle before setting Mark down. He fishes for something at the side of the bed while Mark recovers, core aching and cock still pulsing. But Jongin hasn’t said he could touch himself yet, so his hands stay fisted in the sheets. He wants to be a good boy tonight. 

When Jongin returns, he again settles between Mark’s knees. Making sure Mark’s is watching him carefully, he sticks his face between his legs and gently, torturously, takes the end of the butt plug into his mouth. 

_“Jongin!”_ Mark cries out. He tries to buck away, so sensitive, but Jongin’s hands keep him still. The lips against his hole, the wetness of his spit, it drives Mark crazy. Tonight has been an exercise in restraint but fuck if Jongin doesn’t do something soon Mark is going to lose his mind. 

With his mouth, Jongin fucks the plug in and out. Enough to stretch Mark but the plug isn’t big enough to fuck Mark properly. It’s not enough to make him cum. Mark sobs wetly. He begins to chant Jongin’s name like a fucking prayer, hole clenching helplessly 

Jongin pushes the plug all the way back in and his time pushes his tongue in alongside. Mark nearly shrieks, abs coiled tight, his hand flying to Jongin’s hair and gripping it harshly. Finally, the plug is pulled all the way free. When Jongin comes for air he looks outrageously pleased with himself. 

Mark just grabs at him. Jongin meets his lips easily, letting his tongue swirl lazily around Mark’s. “Like how you taste?” he asks. 

“S—shut up,” he blushes. “Feel—feel empty.” 

“Oh,” Jongin coos. He kisses Mark again. “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” 

Now it’s Mark’s time to see what Jongin retrieved when he ducked away, and the sight of it makes his head swim. Because held in both hands is a long, double-ended dildo. Mark chokes on his own spit. Playfully, Jongin quirks an eyebrow and licks his lips. 

This is how they end up on their knees facing each other, the dildo working into both of their throats. Mark watches with watery eyes as Jongin works it, less practiced and making these tiny choking noises around the silicone. 

“Make it wet for me,” Jongin had told him before. Now, Jongin’s gaze tells him he’s doing a good job when a long line of saliva chases his lips as he pulls the dildo out. 

Jongin teases the head of the dildo against his rim, slicked so well first by their spit and now with a filthy amount of lube. These sheets won’t just need to be washed, but thrown away. He pushes it into Mark first, waiting for his long moan to taper out before laying back and letting the younger give him the same treatment. 

Mark loves it when Jongin gets fucked— _he_ loves getting fucked, too, but there’s little hotter than the way Jongin gets so desperate and needy when his hole gets played with. Today is the best of both worlds. 

Jongin lets out a strangled moan when Mark slides his plug out and replaces it with the dildo. God, it’s like Jongin’s hole will keep sucking it in forever until it’s so deep in him he can feel it in his stomach. Mark knows he’s ready when his head falls back and his shoulders are trembling. 

“Mark, Ma—” Jongin pants. With dazed eyes he reaches out to him and Mark completes the loop. It feels right to have their hands twined together like this as they begin to rock and fuck into each other. Mark hitches his legs over Jongin’s lap and whimpers as Jongin tugs him closer, the dildo pushing itself further inside. 

Just like that, Jongin fucks him. Mark’s being manhandled, used like he’s a toy just like the dildo and fuck _, fuck,_ does he love it. Each time Jongin fucks Mark forward the dildo slides further into his own wet hole. Mark doesn’t know how he can have the concentration for it. Mark’s own body is already shaking. 

His dick is so fucking hard, red and dripping precome onto his stomach. And it’s right there for Jongin to see. To see how he makes Mark feel, what he does to his body. 

“So deep Nini.” The dildo isn’t particularly thick but Mark feels like it’s touching entirely new places inside him. He thrusts up in tiny motions, nudging it closer to brushing by his prostate. “Fuuuck,” he moans brokenly. 

And Jongin looks so fucking hot in front of him, just as wrecked as Mark, but still fucking them onto the dildo. “So good at taking it baby,” he says. “C’mon and touch yourself for me.” And that has Mark’s hand flying to his cock— _finally_ giving himself some much needed attention. 

“You too, please you too,” Mark begs. Really, Jongin is only a man, and when Mark cries out for him like this, even if he’s supposed to be in charge, he follows the request. Mark fists himself fast and desperate, the extent of his arousal making it hard to set a pace. It’s even more difficult when Jongin is in front of him looking like sin itself, fisting his own cock roughly with a dildo stuffed up his ass. 

“Hyung, please.” Mark wants to cum. He wants to cum so fucking badly he can feel it in every nerve of his body. He can feel it all the way in his scalp. All he can do is beg Jongin for it. “Hyung, please, hyung.” 

Jongin doesn’t give him permission. But he does hoist Mark’s hips all the way forward as he falls back, landing so that Mark is in his lap and Jongin is on his back, all while the dildo rubs inside them. 

Here, Mark doesn’t need to be told what to do, but Jongin tells him anyway. “Work for it baby. Bounce on it like it’s my cock.” 

In the state he’s in, Mark can’t get much of a rhythm going—he’s so desperate and needy already. Each of his thrusts has his cock sliding against Jongin’s underneath him though, causing them both to gasp and moan with each roll of Mark’s hips.

And of course, every time he moves, the dildo moves inside Jongin, too. 

“You’re doing so well,” Jongin says in a growl. It’s impossible for him not to be affected. For him to not also be close. Mark is beyond sense though. Not only is the pleasure of the dildo and Jongin’s hand on his cock rapidly building to the crescendo, but it’s how Jongin _looks,_ god, how much of a mess he is. It might very well be the hottest thing he’s ever seen. 

And it’s Jongin—the list of contenders is very long. 

Just like that Mark is coming into Jongin’s fist, some hitting him on the chest, such a pretty look on his skin. Mark’s brain, already blinking in and out from his orgasm, might short-circuit when he sees Jongin dip his fingers in some of that cum and bring it down between his legs to rub around his hole. 

It’s too much. Mark might have blacked out—

Because the next thing he knows, Jongin’s kneeling in front of him, showing himself off for Mark as he fucks the dildo in and out of himself, fist moving at a punishing pace. 

“Cum on me, hyung,” Mark gazes up at him with hooded eyes. He doesn’t have awareness to try and finish Jongin off himself, so instead he tilts his head up like a good little slut, as enticing as possible, and look at Jongin with all the love in the world. 

It’s enough for Jongin, who cums across Mark in strips, as promised. He slumps down half on top of Mark, not that he minds at all. For a moment they just lay there. 

“We need to use this all the time,” Mark pants wetly against Jongin’s collarbone. There’s sweat pooled there, salty to the taste when Mark runs his tongue across his skin. 

“Mmmmmpf,” Jongin answers cutely, real answer lost to Mark’s shoulder. 

“We can’t sleep here like this,” Mark mumbles reluctantly. Jongin rolls off of him lazily. They end up side by side together, arms pressed alongside each other. Jongin turns to look at him, and Mark is left breathless by his expression. 

Jongin’s love is the softest thing. Like a little songbird, or a tiny spring flower peeking up through the spring snow. 

_I love you,_ he mouths, topped off with a wide, unguarded smile. 

“I love you too,” Mark whispers back. 

Oh yeah, this? This is fucking perfect.

-

Something stirs Mark out of bed in the hours between late and early. It’s hard to leave the warm cocoon of blankets Jongin has constructed, especially when the man himself has tangled their limbs together, breath playing against the curve of Mark’s neck.

He feels restless for some reason, down to his toes. 

As carefully as possible he extracts himself from bed, making sure to take care and rest Jongin’s head properly on a pillow. He’s always cranky when he wakes up in the morning having slept in a weird position. 

Mark trods over to the window looking out over lower Manhattan. They’ve gotten into the habit of falling asleep with the blinds open. Because of that it never truly gets dark in the bedroom, but the harsh light from Mark’s phone makes him wince anyways. 

He steals a glance over to Jongin. Still sleeping, the beautiful curve of his bare shoulders peeking out from the covers, hair a mess. It’s so endearing. 

Lately, Mark’s gotten into the nasty habit of searching his own social media mentions. There were none, before, but now that he’s achieved the illustrious title of _Kai Kim’s boyfriend,_ they've exploded in number. It’s what you would expect. People coo over them, imagine long-winded scenarios about what they’re like together. There’s bad things, too, driven by jealousy and motivations Mark can’t begin to fathom. And then there’s the stuff that’s so unimaginably horrible he couldn’t even have prepared for it. 

Jongin told him it would be hard. 

_Is it worth it?_

Mark looks out over the city, the cool glass soothing him. It’s nice to be home. Another habit he’s gotten into is fiddling with the ring Jongin got him, custom Cartier. _Not_ an engagement ring, as the internet likes to think. Just a promise. 

_Is it worth it?_

A gentle pair of hands curl around his hips, a warm body slides behind his. When he’s sleepy, Jongin is like a kitten, purring and affectionate. He noses the back of Mark’s neck, rubs their cheeks together. Mark arches against him, finding no small amount of satisfaction in how easily they fit together. 

Jongin fully encircles Mark in his embrace. He loves doing this, touching Mark, holding Mark, even in public. Probably _especially_ in public. 

“Thinking?” he mumbles, fingers stroking Mark’s bare stomach idly. “Big, sexy mind,” he laughs. Mark laughs, too. 

_Is it worth it?_

Yes. It’s a decision Mark would make again and again. He loves Jongin. Jongin loves _him._ Some assholes on the internet, camera flashes in his face—

When Mark gets to have _this?_ It’s such a small price to pay.

Mark turns his head just enough to press a kiss against Jongin’s jawline; his hyung giggles like a little kid embarrassed by affection. “Think about how much I love you,” Mark sing-songs, sugary sweet. This just causes Jongin to laugh harder. 

“I love you too baby,” Jongin says, more serious. Gently, he takes Mark’s phone out of his grasp. He knows what it’s like. “I’d love you even more if you came back to bed, though.” 

“Yeah, ok.” Mark turns away from New York for the moment. Lets Jongin take him by the hand, lead him back to the warmth. “Take me back to bed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEEEEEEEW we're done. I'd like to thank 1) my sister, who every time I talked to her about this just sighed and said "Snaps, write a fucking book." Ugh. Love her. And 2) MISS RONA for giving me nothing else besides the time I needed to complete this. Silver linings, folks. If nothing else, I want my legacy to be this 60k Kaimark fic. 
> 
> If you noticed a shift in Jongin and Mark's dynamic, that was a little on purpose to show the growth of their relationship and trust, but also a little because halfway through writing this fic I became indoctrinated to the bottom Jongin agenda. 
> 
> As always, if you enjoyed, leave me a comment down below. I really do love them. Or, say hi to me on my socials. I had a really, really fun time writing this, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it just as much. I promise to return with more Kaimark because like everyone else, I am whipped for Mark Lee. 
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/themunchking1) | [CC](https://curiouscat.me/themunchking)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the ending when I was really tired and I cried, lol. Don't worry dear readers, you have nothing to fear. I had no intention of making this two parts but then it just got so LONG that I decided to split it up. Can you expect another.... 20k? Probably. Oh my god. Anyways, this one goes out to my spermies. Love u bitches.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/themunchking1) | [CC](https://curiouscat.me/themunchking)


End file.
